


Dregs

by Rynadine



Category: Zootopia (2016)
Genre: Abuse, Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe, Constructive Criticism Welcome, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Romance, F/M, Minor Character Death, Reverse Zystopia, Trauma, Worldbuilding, and like I really mean dystopia here
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-04
Updated: 2020-10-20
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:28:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 23,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23019331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rynadine/pseuds/Rynadine
Summary: Judy Hopps — identification tag JH614030 — managed to do the impossible: she escaped from Zootopia.
Relationships: Judy Hopps & Nick Wilde, Judy Hopps/Nick Wilde
Comments: 145
Kudos: 216





	1. J : The Great Escape

**Author's Note:**

> This is a story draft I had from a few months back, but I had it polished and beta'd by my wonderful boyfriend ARK. Send him some nice words over Discord for me. I haven't decided whether or not I'm going to expand it into a full story, but right now I'm leaning towards that idea.
> 
> As always, feedback (negative or positive) is very much appreciated. Hope y'all have a good day.

Dry leaves and sticks crackled under Judy’s paws like muffled firecrackers, each unsteady step through the autumn-tinted forest accompanied by weary panting. The rabbit didn’t know how long she'd been running. A half-hour, maybe? Probably more, if the sheer exhaustion she felt was anything to go by. A black plastic case and ragged blue backpack jumped up and down under her arm and back with every footfall, their contents just barely protected. 

Letting out a shaky swear under her breath, Judy narrowly avoided tripping over some of the harsher roots splayed across the forest floor. The combination of the dense trees as well as dead leaves littering the ground made stealth or hiding difficult due to the resulting noise, but on the other paw Judy wasn't sure she could run for much longer. 

An angry, almost manic voice called out from behind her; Judy couldn’t tell from how far away.

“C’mon, prey! Come out, already! What else do you have to lose?!”

Judy let out another hushed swear, refusing to even acknowledge the vitriol-laden taunt. If nothing else, her pursuers were persistent. Looking back revealed that the two wolves had lost her amongst the russet-colored leaves and pale bark, which meant she had _finally_ gained a lead. She darted behind a tree into a small clearing, careful to avoid the traitorous leaves, and took several silent gulps of air.

A few beats of respite passed as Judy regained her breath, the pair of wolves behind her shouting out more brazen taunts and obscenities; neither mammal struck her as very clever. Still, Judy needed a distraction, and she needed it _now._ Paws shaking, her gaze shifted to the backpack. Searching it revealed some of its contents - a set of matches, makeshift knife, dusty water bottles and a small container of gasoline. Judy sighed quietly, taking out the bottled water and drinking it down greedily, before taking a long, hard look at the gasoline. It would be amoral, dangerous, risky, and several other perfectly good objections, but-

 _crack crack_ came the sound of gunfire through a nearby tree. Real guns, not the type stored in the black case under her arm.

Clearly, she didn’t have much time. Slipping the knife into her pocket, Judy pulled out the gasoline and spread it amongst the base of the cluster of trees she hid behind, before glancing up at the dense foliage overhead. Despite everything, she smiled a little. It was practically one tree; the overhanging foliage interlocked in a way that practically _begged_ to be destroyed by unfortunately necessary arson. Obviously. From the perspective of a wholly exhausted bunny, there wasn’t really any other interpretation.

More gunfire ripped through nearby trees, making Judy fumble and drop the can. She looked at it despairingly as the flammable liquid trickled across the ground. A full-fledged forest fire came to mind, but before Judy could guiltily dwell on the thought her paws had already lit a match. It went out almost immediately.

“No, no, no… Come on!” she whisper-shouted, growing increasingly desperate. 

An idea struck her with startling clarity. Rummaging around in her pockets revealed the knife she'd pocketed just a moment ago, as well as a faded red and black kerchief. Judy gave it a dark look, and after a moment’s hesitation used the matches to create a more substantial flame by setting fire to the memento. 

With increasing clarity, she could still hear her pursuers argue and shout as they slowly approached her direction. The heat started to seep into her right paw, and so Judy began to mouth a strangled countdown. 




Her other paw made its way up her body, checking for injuries. She found several scratches, none of which surprised her.




The paw shifted to her neck, latching onto the black _thing_ cruelly ringing it.




A broken shock collar.

Judy burst into a run, throwing the burning cloth directly behind her into the gasoline, and the effect was practically instant: a rush of heat blasted her back, accompanied by a satisfying _kaboom_. A distinctly wolf-esque (wolfish?) shout was quickly drowned out by roaring flames. The rabbit hoped that they were too far from the blaze to be seriously hurt.

Using the sound of fire and the resulting heat as a distraction, Judy poured on speed in the direction least crowded by trees. Sheer, mortal panic overtook her senses, and as if to parallel the blaze behind her, the breath circling her lungs turned fiery and roiling. Looking back displayed just about exactly what she'd been expecting: what could’ve passed as a thirty-mammal bonfire centered in a clump of trees, each tendril of flame licking up the trunks like otherworldly snakes. The overhanging foliage had just caught as well, and Judy did not doubt if she'd been standing under it she'd look up to see a sky of fire.

Judy turned back to her path and sprinted faster, completely ignoring the cavalcade of noise she was making. Fortunately, she hadn’t dropped the backpack nor the black case during her sudden bout of pyromania. She wasn’t sure what she would have done if she'd lost the case. Behind her, russet trees splintered and burned against the setting sun.

After another few minutes of panicked running and remorseful thoughts, Judy reached a wide field of what she assumed to be crops — despite being a rabbit, she didn’t really have a reference point for agriculture of _any_ kind. A lone hill with a single pale tree stood nearby, and with the last of her energy Judy plodded over to the base. Entirely drained, she rested her back on the dead bark and closed her eyes. A long and slightly hysterical sigh escaped her, but fortunately she could no longer hear the burning trees. Plenty of smoke in the distance, though. Another sigh - significantly more hysterical than the last - escaped her.

Everything had gone so _fucking wrong._ It didn’t take an expert to realize that, but something about being forced into committing arson was the cherry on top of the cock-up cake.

Today was supposed to be the checkmate for prey - the historical “it’s called a hustle, sweetheart” of Zootopia, where all of Mayor Lionheart's manipulation and lies were exposed to the prey-subjugating public. Today was supposed to be the day where collars could be abolished permanently, the day on which the names “Dawn Bellwether,” “Doug Ramses,” “Clawhauser,” “Judy Hopps,” and hundreds of others would be forever marked in the history books for mammals 200 years down the line to memorize and forget. _All_ of it had failed. Practically every step, if Judy was being honest.

Before she could dwell any further on the effervescent fountain of failure that followed her like she’d rolled in liquefied skunk, her mind went back to the knife in her pocket. A surge of complete and total fury rode through her body, and before she could control himself the collar on her neck was cut angrily in two.

Originally, Judy planned to keep the broken collar as a memento for their success - a sort of “see how far we’ve come” taken physical form. That plan was swiftly abandoned in the face of her anger, and instead she settled on chucking the infernal device as far as her arms could throw it. It dropped in the middle of the field with deeply unsatisfying silence.

Judy sat back down and rested her head against the dead bark of the tree, defeated. For the first time in about a year or two, Judy Hopps began to cry. To be fair, it seemed like an appropriate occasion to cry, and so she let the tears fall. They weren’t the cold, body-wracking sobs one would expect from a mammal in her position, though; they were hot and angry. Angry at a world that refused to change. The field fell almost silent, but Judy’s torn clothes rustled a little bit as she curled into herself.

The rabbit was so engrossed in her own mourning that she didn’t notice a nearby intruder - an emerald-eyed fox with a rusting rifle over his shoulder, slowly creeping up the hill. She didn’t notice when his ears fell and concern filled his face at the sound of almost-quiet crying, a sound he knew all too well. She certainly didn’t notice when he walked around to the front of the tree, only a few feet in front of her.

She _did_ notice when he took out the rifle and aimed it directly between her eyes. Almost immediately, the crying stopped. She looked up at him with total and complete hopelessness, but the part of her mind dedicated to making a good first impression was thankfully still intact.

“Hi,” she said timidly, in a voice cracked by deep fatigue.


	2. J : Are You Going to Kill Me?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What was one more batshit insane decision?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've decided to continue! Hooray. Updates for this will probably be sporadic, as I really don't have any idea where it's headed. Again, please give love and thanks to ARK and TrashburgerBiz for me. Y'all are the best.

"Who are you and why are you here?" the fox said, keeping the rifle aimed steadily between her eyes. One finger twitched uncertainly at the trigger, but whether it was out of fear or excitement Judy couldn't tell.

As non-threateningly as she could, Judy slowly shifted into a sitting position, ensuring that all of her limbs were in full view of the fox. Despite the _monumental_ level of failure that she'd already had to weather today, dying was not something she was ready for.

After finally clearing her desert-dry throat and pounding the front of her chest once, she began to speak. "My name is Judy," she started, silently weighing her options. Her legs were too cramped to make a break for it, and besides that the fox's stance clearly communicated that he knew how to use the rifle. Negotiation was her safest option.

Confusion blossomed on his face, but he kept the gun firmly planted at her head. "They give you names, now? What happened to tags?"

Judy resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Giving him the best 'innocent bunny' face she could muster, she shifted one paw behind her back to feel for the knife in her pocket. "I'm sorry, sir, but I don't remember it." 

_There._ She could feel the outline of the blade in her back poc-

"If you go for the knife, I _promise_ you I will shoot," he threatened. "You're going to tell me your identification tag. _Now_." 

She quickly raised her paws back to her head, barely restraining a scowl. Had he really managed to see her cut the collar off? 

"JH614030," she said tiredly, "And I'm here because I escaped, okay? I did the impossible. I escaped Zootopia."

He flinched, but the barrel of the rifle stayed where it was. A smile ghosted across his muzzle. "No jokes, please. I promise I don’t want to hurt you, but you need to tell me why and how you’re really here.”

“I’m serious,” she said, gesturing to the gun. “and trust me, I am _really_ not in the mood to be screwing with you.”

“JH6... to hell with it, actually — Judy,” he began, watching as her ears perked at the use of her name, “you’re telling me that you escaped the most heavily-guarded city in the world with only a few _scratches_?

Judy shrugged, noting how some of the tension began to drain out of his shoulders. Maybe it would be best to play dumb about the whole ‘accidental forest fire’ mishap. “It’s a long story.”

To her complete and utter surprise, the fox chuckled. “I bet. If you’re telling the truth — and let me tell you, that’s one helluva truth — then I think a few of my friends and I wanna hear it. So let me ask you a question, alright?”

Something different had inflected his voice; something softer, more sympathetic. She nodded.

“If I drop the rifle, are you going to kill me?”

Stunned — and more than a little confused — by his directness, Judy felt her mouth drop open. A few more moments of silence passed before she was able to cobble together a semi-coherent response.

“I- what?” she sputtered.

“I’m serious. If you, as a prey mammal, really do know how to escape Zootopia, then I have some friends who need to know how.”

“So you can report it and make sure it never happens again?” she spat venomously. “Why would I ever tell a pred _with a gun to my head_ the only way a prey mammal can escape that _hellhole!?_ ”

Nodding, the fox let out a long, shaky sigh, before taking two steps back. Slowly, and with as much clarity as he could, he stowed the rifle behind his back, extending a paw. A doomed smile graced his muzzle. 

“How about a pred _without_ a gun to your head?”

Just as Judy managed to recollect her thoughts, the fox had thrown another curveball; her brain flatly refused to process the scene in front of her. Both of them knew she could go for the knife, and he wouldn’t be able to reach the gun in time. This fox, whose name she didn’t even have a _guess_ at, was willing to bet his life on the word of a filthy rabbit he found in the middle of nowhere. This had to be a trap, right?

She eyed his outstretched paw with suspicion. Then again, how many options did she really have? If Judy refused to join him, she didn’t have anywhere else to go; up until this point her only focus was escaping those wolves. Although following the fox wasn’t exactly smart, neither was wandering the fields of crops. At least with the former there was the chance that things might go well — she could contact Clawhauser, perhaps, and he could provide a temporary safe haven.

Sighing, Judy put a paw to her head. Fuck it.

“Okay,” she finally hissed, “this is the dumbest thing I’ve ever done, and that is _really_ saying something, but okay. You’d better be telling the truth.” With eyes narrowed, she dexterously slipped the knife out of her back pocket and pointed it at his eyes, ignoring the handshake. “But before we do anything else, you’re going to answer a few questions for me.”

Nervously, the fox nodded. He raised both paws in a gesture of surrender, his eyes trained on the dark sheen of the dagger.

Feeling some of the tension in her stomach settle, Judy took a deep breath. She knew how predators intimidated their victims — the forward stance, perked ears and occasional flash of teeth — and so she molded her expression into a thin veneer of fury. Judging by the growing fear in the fox’s eyes, it was working.

“Who are you?” she began, inching the blade closer to his face.

“Nick Wilde,” he said quickly, taking a tiny step back. “Of the Grey-Wilde biwarren, age 24.”

That was her age. She’d laugh if the situation wasn’t so tense. “Where am I?” she snapped.

“Just on the edge of Badgerburrow’s agricultural half.”

Judy didn’t recognize the name, but that wasn’t surprising. Most prey (and a few of the lesser predators) in Zootopia weren’t even aware there were towns outside the city.

"Why do you trust me?" she growled, hiding her genuine curiosity behind more outward anger; most predators would've eaten her or worse by this point, much less try to talk. 

"That's… a long story that would be much easier to tell if you came with me."

A non-answer. Typical. She had expected to hit a wall here, because there _wasn't_ a good reason; Nick, if that was his real name, was hiding something. She kept quiet as the silence began to hang thick and heavy over the both of them; Judy could see sweat beginning to form on his paw pads. She couldn’t think of any other questions that would increase her chances of surviving alone or with him, but…

“And this really isn’t some elaborate plot to kill me?” She knew it was a stupid question. Hell, it would’ve been smarter to ask why she hadn’t been killed _already_ , but something deep in her psyche needed the confirmation.

“I promise. On whatever that’s worth,” he said, his tone somewhere between reassuring and terrified. 

His word wasn’t worth much, if she was being honest, but this was still her best chance at survival. If she was lucky, Nick’s family would have a phone she could get to Clawhauser with. The knife returned to her back pocket.

“Listen, Nick,” she began, turning around to gather the backpack and case, “You couldn’t even _imagine_ what Zootopia’s like for prey, but I’m sure you can figure out that I’m not in any hurry to get back.”

Judy could hear her heart pounding in her chest like a one-mammal band; under any other circumstances, mouthing off to a predator like that would be suicide. The sparks of defiance that’d nearly been crushed by her failures began to flare back up with anger.

“So here’s the deal: you’re going to take me to the nearest phone, I _might_ tell you how I escaped the city, and then we’ll part ways. Forever. Understand?” she said icily, stuffing the case into her backpack. She hoped dearly he wouldn’t ask about it.

Nick nodded silently, his tail twitching. “It’s about a mile and a half walk back. Do you think you can make it?” he asked. Judy couldn’t tell if his concern was genuine.

She stood unsteadily, dropping back to the ground after feeling both her legs tense up like her muscles had been swapped with rubber bands. Running from the wolves had taken almost all of her energy — even while sitting, she could feel a cramp coming on. Walking back would only make things worse.

“Probably not,” she muttered. They’d have to wait, and the sun was already beginning to set, bathing the field in a gentle soon-to-be-less-than-orange glow. If Nick hadn’t noticed the spreading flames yet, he certainly would if they stayed. 

The universe just _had_ to get one more kick in, didn’t it?

“I could carry you?” he asked. It came out more as a question than a suggestion; Judy narrowed her eyes, glaring at him with equal parts contempt and curiosity. He couldn’t be serious.

“Look, I don’t expect you to trust me,” he said tiredly, holding out a paw to her. “And I’m not going to pretend I understand what you’ve been through. But unless you have any other ideas — and trust me, things aren’t going to get better if you wait here — then I need you to give me a chance.”

Internally, her mind writhed at the thought of being so close to a predator; risk-takers (usually) didn’t last long in Zootopia. 

...but then again, she’d made it this far, and already agreed to come with him. What was one more batshit insane decision?

“Fine,” she muttered, taking his paw. With surprising agility, Nick scooped her up onto his shoulders — ignoring the small shout she’d let out — and allowed her a moment to settle into the sudden piggyback ride. 

“All good up there?” he asked, somehow joyful. 

As much as she hated to admit it, riding on his shoulders was surprisingly comfy. The bone-deep instincts of _run it’s a fox run_ still bounced loudly around her head, but she managed to suppress most of them with the argument that this was (somehow) her best option.

“As good as I’m going to get,” Judy mumbled stiffly. His rifle was frighteningly close to her — she knew how guns worked and that it wouldn’t fire on its own, but the thought was still haunting that this was a weapon that easily could’ve killed her mere minutes ago — although she felt some relief knowing that he wouldn’t be able to access it with her on his shoulders. Not much relief, granted, but still enough for her to let out some of the congealed stress.

Stumbling, Nick began walking in a seemingly random direction. She couldn’t see anything in the distance, but it seemed unlikely he was going to carry her somewhere else _before_ slaughtering her.

“How’s the view?” he asked, still bizarrely cheerful. 

She didn’t respond. Whether this optimism was genuine or a ploy to lower her guard, the less she engaged him the better.

“Not much of a conversationalist, huh? No problem, I can work with tha-”

“Why are you being so... _friendly?_ ” Judy cut in, a sudden burst of curiosity overriding her common sense. She’d never met a predator — besides Clawhauser, but he didn’t really count — who would spend more than a minute of their attention to the thoughts of a prey mammal, much less carry them a mile or two at dusk. It was throwing her survival instincts into a tailspin.

Judy felt him shrug, bouncing her up a half-inch from his shoulders. “Would you rather I eat you?” he deflected jokingly. 

She didn’t have a good answer to that. 

“Besiiiiiiides,” he drawled theatrically, plodding along a little faster, “I figure you’d like a distraction from… _everything_. I sure needed one.”

Curious, she glanced down at the top of his head. Knowing more about this fox might give her some much-needed leverage. 

“Sorry about that, by the way. I know that maybe we didn’t get off on the right paw, with me shoving a gun in your face and all, but if you really did escape Zootopia then I think we’ll be fast friends,” he said, beginning to babble. She had a feeling it was a nervous tic. 

“We aren’t ever going to be friends, fox,” she said flatly.

He shrugged again, sidestepping an especially tall patch of grass. “Hey, you never know. I’m sure weirder things have happened.”

Again, Judy wasn’t sure what to say back to that. The day was starting to finally catch up to her, and she could feel her thoughts start to haze with fatigue. She tried to mumble something back — whether it was an acknowledgement or a protest, she wasn’t sure — but the subtle rise and fall of his shoulders was lulling her into sleep, and even the thought of falling asleep next to a predator was outweighed by the sheer exhaustion she felt.

Surely he wouldn’t notice if she took a quick nap?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, feedback welcome. Thanks for reading!


	3. J : Us or Them

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first of many nightmares.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is being updated surprisingly quickly, but don't expect that to last. I don't know what eldritch forces have compelled me to write this much this fast but I'm not gonna question it yet.

_“P-please, I don-”_

**_“HOW MANY TIMES ARE YOU GOING TO MAKE THIS MISTAKE, RABBIT?”_** _the cheetah roars._ _He’s enormous — barrel-chested and stocky, almost more mountain than mammal. The fur around his neck seems to stand on end as he stares down the rabbit across from him._

_JH614030 curls up into a ball, trying to flush the yelling from her head. It’s pounding against her skull like a baseball bat, more physically painful than mental, and yet her thoughts also feel ice-cold and thorny._

_“I-I’m sorry, sir, it was an accident.”_

_The room goes lethally quiet._ **_“This is the third time,”_ ** _he hisses lowly, breaking the silence by slamming his fist into the desk. It’s loud enough to be a gunshot._ **_“You know how many other preds would deal with you failing THREE times?”_ **

_None. Not a single one in Zootopia._

**_“And do you think I got to where I am by being merciful, rabbit?”_ **

_She flinches as his claws drag across the polished wood of the desk. It’s suffocating. She can’t see, she can’t breathe, she can’t think. Everything is spinning, or nothing is spinning, it’s impossible to tell. She feels like vomiting but nothing is coming up._

_And suddenly, it’s all gone. She’s walking down one of the labyrinthine hallways of the Clawhauser family manor, a new bruise over her eye and a huge gash in her arm, paw-in-hoof with a sheep._

_“Aren’t you sick of it?” the sheep — identification tag DB617150 — asks. “Think about it: nobody here is going to notice two prey… missing. We’re expendable. Replaceable. Numbers on a page, as far as the preds are concerned,” she hisses, tugging angrily at the black collar around her neck. _

_Judy rolls her newly-bruised eyes, restraining a wince. Everybody knows the security around Zootopia is impenetrable. There’s thermal detection at the gates, and scaling the immense walls is more than impossible for even the largest of prey. She hasn’t heard about an escape attempt in years._

_“...Maybe we should be happy with what we have, DB. The Clawhausers are pretty good to us, all things considered.”_

_It’s true, in a sense. They aren’t beaten often and neither are missing any limbs, which surely has to count as some sort of victory. She vehemently ignores the wounds on both their arms._

_“He almost took out your eye today!” DB pleads, approaching a corner. “Do you really think you’re safe?”_

_“Safer than others! Why should we throw it all away on the chance of escape?” The statement slips out of her mouth shakily, carelessly; words like “escape” or “free” are like cut glass: fragile, prickly, and dangerous. It feels wrong to even_ **_think_ ** _about them._

_They stop before the hallway turns, DB grasping JH’s shoulders. It burns a little._

_“JH, please. All I’m asking is for you to think about it. We can get out of here — get to somewhere better, where we don’t have to sleep with one eye open, where we aren’t always wondering if we’re going to see tomorrow, where we don’t have to be recordkeepers,” she gestures to herself, “or errand-runners,” she gestures to JH, “and just be free. It’s us or them.” _

_Tears begin to prick at the edge of JH’s eyes. She’s making it sound so terrifyingly_ **_easy_** _, to slip away to somewhere better. All the stress and terror and horror of everyday life, gone? It’d be a dream come true._

_“Oh, mutton chops,” DB whispers, genuinely concerned. “I’m sorry, JH, I didn’t mean to make you cry.”_

_She pulls the rabbit into a silent hug, rhythmically patting her back. Although comfort is few and far between these days, Judy can feel some of the built-up tension release from her shoulders through her sobbing. The sound is nearly swallowed among the walls._

_Unbeknownst to both of them, a rail-thin cheetah stands behind the hallway's corner, clapping a paw over his mouth. There’s a bruise on his face too._

Judy snapped awake, restraining a scream. She was back _there_ , after all her work! Everything had been useless; prey mammals just _can’t_ get out! Why had she ever thought tha-

...No. No, that wasn’t right. Mentally whiplashed, she tried to reconcile her nightmare with reality: the unstripped wood walls around certainly weren’t part of Zootopia, and neither was the low-glowing lightbulb. 

Where the hell _was_ she? The sleep-addled, exhaustion-ridden mess that was her mind finally started to connect the pieces. She’d been fleeing a pack of wolves, and arrived under a tree only to forge the dumbest alliance of her life. With… a pred. 

A fox. 

She slapped a paw to her head; what the hell had she been thinking? Clearly, the exhaustion had left her stupid enough to accept such a partnership. 

Her thoughts finally beginning to clear, she could tell it was the same fox napping against the opposite wall. She jumped to her feet, instinctually reaching for her knife, only to come up empty.

“Dammit,” she mouthed noiselessly, scanning the room for her backpack. To her mild surprise, the room wasn’t a cage nor anything remotely threatening.

It appeared to be… a shed. A gardening shed, to be precise. Grey-orange tools hung lifelessly against the thin wooden walls, and the floor was matted in a soft layer of dirt.

Her eyes snapped to her backpack, the sharp blue popping out against the soft brown of the shed’s shelves. It didn’t look damaged, but then again it wouldn’t surprise her if some of the contents had been stolen, considering her company. She snuck over to it quietly.

Silently combing through the contents revealed that everything important seemed to be there: the black case, water bottles, matches, and most surprising of all: her knife. The handle slipped into her paw with practiced ease.

Judy sighed wistfully. It wasn’t like she had many possessions to her name _within_ the walls of Zootopia, but somehow seeing how little she had now felt like a slight kick in the stomach. If only she had a…

“Phone,” Judy whispered, her eyes flitting back to the sleeping fox. She’d followed him in order to get to a _phone_. He’d said that his family’s farm was about a mile away, and so it was likely they’d arrived when she was still asleep.

The opportunity for safe haven could be just outside.

With trembling paws, she quietly padded over to Nick’s sleeping form. Behind him was the shed’s inward-opening door; he’d clearly intended for them to talk before she could leave.

He was defenseless. Asleep, and with his throat turned towards her. She gripped the knife harder, her knuckles whitening. Surely his house was nearby, and surely she could manage to find the phone?

It’d be so easy, too. Kill him and walk out. It was his own fault, frankly, for napping and leaving a potential threat with a weapon. Easy mistakes like that were usually a mammal's last. She inched the knife to his neck.

And yet… he’d been kind to her. Maybe it’d been faked, but that had to count for _something_. She escaped Zootopia to get away from the violence, the parasitism. Letting it follow her would practically be a betrayal.

Right?

 _It’s us or them, JH._ The phrase floats through her mind unbidden. Us or them. Prey or predator. Bunny or fox. The blade’s edge pushed forward to graze the fur of his neck.

It’d be quick and painless, all things considered. She’d seen all kinds of mammals — prey and predator — die, inexorably lost to the terrifying monster they called a city in much worse ways than a simple slit of the throat. What was one more life lost?

But then again, she didn’t know what was outside. There could be hundreds of preds right outside the door. Killing Nick could be suicide. Fear, dense and leaden, crawled into her stomach.

“What would Dawn do?” she whispers to herself. Dawn always knew how to make tough decisions; it’s what made her a good leader. Quick, decisive, and flexible. The ewe knew how to focus on the bigger picture.

What _was_ her “bigger picture,” though? Her most obvious chance of survival would be getting to Clawhauser, and (despite her instincts) Nick was probably her safest bet. Therefore, Nick should live.

She knew that logic was simplified. Honestly, Dawn would’ve scoffed at the idea of sparing a predator, but Judy figured pragmatism should outweigh her bias. For now.

Despite everything, she smiled wryly. Only in the most ass-backwards turn of events would she have a predator solely at her mercy. It was funny, in a twisted sort of way, and with that thought she let the knife drop back to her side.

“Fox. Wake up.”

One of his ears fluttered. It was, dare she say it, a tiny bit cute.

“Nick,” she said, kneeling down to get closer to his head. “I need you to wake up so I can leave.”

He murmured something, too quiet for her to hear, before both of his eyes slowly creaked open. Not a single other part of his body so much as twitched, but there was a heavy silence as they stared at one another.

“Hi,” Nick said dimly, drowsiness blurring his voice. He didn’t move.

“Hi,” she whispered back.

Since clearly their wits had peaked, neither was sure what to say next. Judy motioned to the door.

“Oh!” Nick finally said, putting the pieces together and jumping to his feet in a startling burst of motion. Apparently, he was a light sleeper. “Right, I wanted to talk to you about our plan.” He dusted off his clothes, shaking the accumulated dirt free from his tail. 

“There is no plan,” she cut him off, mid-shake. “You’re going to let me use the phone and then I’m leaving.”

Lazily, and now mostly clean, he leaned back against the door, holding up a finger. “Fair. Here’s the _deal:_ you get to use my phone in exchange for your story. I’m going to take you to meet some friends, and you’re going to tell them _exactly_ how you escaped Zootopia. _Then_ you can leave.”

If looks could kill, the fox would be dead fifteen times over. “And if I don’t?” Judy asked sharply.

He snorted. “I don’t know _why_ you want the phone, but I’m gonna guess whatever you want from it is gonna take a few days. If you’re with me, I can at least give you somewhere to stay.”

Internally, she fumed, one foot hammering against the floor. He was right. Even if the call to Clawhauser did get through, it’d take him at least a few days to arrange a visit to pick her up, and there was no telling whether he’d be able to do even that much. It could be weeks before she was somewhere safe.

But… nobody could verify her story. It’d be easy to carve out some (most) of the potentially exploitable bits of her story without anyone being the wiser. News didn’t travel far outside the city.

“Alright,” she said tiredly. “We have a deal.” 

Nick clapped his paws together, a terse smile gracing his face. “Great. Now, let’s get you to that phone,” he said, turning to open the door.

The outside light was blinding compared to the dim bulb hanging over the shed; Judy held a paw over her eyes as they accommodated to the brightness. 

“Welcome to Badgerburrow,” Nick said with a flourish, holding his arms open in a ‘behold!’ gesture.

Her jaw fell open. The landscape was a mix of quiet greens and tired browns, and the surrounding grass rippled under her feet from the breeze. A sizable cabin sat directly opposite to the shed, barely obstructing a field of grain. Vines weaved in and out of the hazel structure like sewn thread, and even from a distance Judy could tell the roof was blanketed in a thick layer of dust. 

“It’s beautiful,” she said dumbly. From the perspective of a bunny who’d lived all her life entrenched in the choked industrialism of Zootopia, she wouldn’t be surprised if she was seeing things.

“Eh,” Nick commented casually, sauntering towards the cabin. “And I was kidding, by the way, about that ‘welcome’ business. We’re on the edge of Badgerburrow. On the agricultural half, at least, but definitely on the edge. You haven’t seen _anything_ yet.’”

Judy was still trying to process the scene in front of her, stock-still. Was this real, or was she still dreaming?

“You coming, Judy?” he called back, already a third of the way to the house. 

Still awestruck, she jogged up until she was beside the fox, keeping a good foot or two of distance between them. Prey could never be too careful.

“There are probably some other mammals in the house, so don’t freak out on me, alright? They aren’t gonna hurt you.”

He hesitated, his tail twitching.

“Probably.”

How reassuring. Instinctively, she kept a paw circling above her pocket, prepared to defend herself.

“That was a joke,” he said apologetically, climbing the porch’s stairs. “Most of these guys are pretty laid back.”

“Har har,” she replied dryly. 

With a light shrug, he unlatched the door. “Stay behind me, though. I dunno where everyone is yet.”

The inside of the house was far cleaner than the outside, but just as homely. Thin planks made up the floors and walls of the entrance room, with a handmade set of chairs and a table just to the left of the door.

And her goal: a landline phone, perched atop a shoddy armoire nearby. Everything in the room seemed to have a makeshift kind of quality to it, if she was being honest. 

“I’m gonna go get some stuff together from the back. Use the phone and try not to run, yeah?” Nick said, slipping into a nearby hallway. She glared fiercely at his back before letting her eyes settle back on the jagged wood of the armoire, padding hesitantly over to it. The phone itself seemed to emanate an aura of dread, but Judy swallowed her fear and hovered one paw over the keypad, pausing. Now or never. Pressing each of the cheap plastic buttons as quickly as she could, she held the receiver up to her ear, nearly fumbling it.

“Please, please pick up,” she whispered to herself. She’d never been the superstitious type, but she crossed her fingers together in an act of desperation. One foot drummed against the floor in an ominous staccato.

... _ring_

_...ring_

_...ring_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, feedback is welcome. Thanks for reading.


	4. C : Esprit de Corpse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another side of the story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good news! I've hammered out most of the worldbuilding for this verse, and I'm hoping I can believably get it across in this and the oncoming chapters. I'll probably answer some of the more harmless questions in the comments, if y'all have any.
> 
> As always, feedback is welcome.

... _ring_

_...ring_

Dammit. Who could be calling at _this_ hour? Anybody with half a mind could probably figure out that Benjamin Clawhauser was probably busy or asleep. 

_...ring_

Emphasis on _was —_ blearily, he shifted from the splayed position he’d slept into something a little closer to ‘sitting,’ wincing at the pain in his torso. One of his paws absentmindedly picked at the bandages covering his stomach as the other blindly searched the nearby nightstand for his phone. It took another few seconds (and a few swears) before he managed to accept the call.

“Hello?” he answered sleepily.

“CLAWHAUSER!” a voice on the other end shouted, distressed. The identity of the voice’s owner tickled teasingly at his subconscious, but he wasn’t quite awake enough to match it to a face yet. 

“Mhm?” It’s barely a response, but it’s the best he could manage while his brain booted up. The tingle in his subconscious intensified.

“Ben, it’s me! Judy!” 

Everything clicked. Now fully awake, he flinched hard enough to feel a twinge in his side, sharp and ringing. She couldn’t really be alive, right? This was clearly some kind of sick joke at his expense.

Just to be sure, he scanned the bedroom to make sure nobody else was in earshot. It’s exactly how he remembered it since the last time he woke up: artfully painted and impeccably clean, practically a silver-gold synthetic symphony of plastic, metal, and wood-substitute. 

That, and there’s a gun on the nightstand. He’d expected as much from his father.

“Judy!?” he finally whispered, holding the phone like it’s going to break. On the ridiculously slim chance that this was real, he cannot — _must_ not — fuck this up. “You’re alive!?”

“YES!” she barked through the phone. ”Please, please tell me you’re okay.” All the traces of desperation in her voice were swept away by concerned relief.

It doesn’t even occur to him that she wants an answer; questions bounce around his mind like a pinball machine in an earthquake. How in hell had she managed to _escape?_ Where was she? Did she know how badly everything had gone wrong?

Did she even know he’d been shot?

Silently, he took a few moments to recompose, shaking the drowsiness from his tail as he jumped up from the bed. This would have to be dealt with carefully. “Judy,” he whispered cautiously, trying to order his concerns. “I’m… alright. Mostly. Are _you_ safe?”

There’s a long enough pause for him to begin worrying, and what sounds like a guilty shuffle of paws. Neither were comforting. “Sort of? It’s complicated. I’ll catch you up on the story later, but the gist of it is that everything’s gone to hell.”

So she did know how badly things were fucked. One question down and an assload to go; he laughed, a curious mixture of sardonic and genuine.

“Judy,” he started, glancing at the clock. It ticked towards the hour mark distressingly fast. “I know. Trust me, I know. Nothing went to plan, but we can regroup! Try again after we gather some more help,” he said, vehemently ignoring the wince of pain from his torso. 

A snort reverberated grimly from the phone. “No, Ben,” she muttered, in a voice dulled by defeat. “There’s no regrouping from this. Doug’s dead. Dawn’s missing. I’m stuck in the middle of nowhere, and you’re…”

“Shot,” he cut in quietly. There wasn’t ever going to be a good time to bring it up, but she needed to know eventually. 

“You’re _shot_ ,” she echoed miserably. “Since when does ‘shot’ count as alright?”

“I’m only a _little_ shot,” he said, aiming to lift the mood. “And besides, I’ll probably get visible scars. Maybe finally get some respect.” Might as well make the best of the situation, and making a joke or two couldn’t hurt.

To his surprise, she laughed, but it was followed by a hiccuping almost-sob. She paused before speaking again, trying to pull herself together. “You’re the only person I know who could spin getting a bullet in your side into something positive.”

Instinctively, he shrugged, hissing silently at the flare of pain. “Gotta stay sane somehow, Judes,” he joked. 

Another half-sob-half-laugh, this time succeeded by a sniffle. “Take it from me: bullets don’t make good therapists.” Each word came out watery — she was on the very edge of crying. It was such a foreign concept that the sound didn’t register at first, like expecting the taste of milk and getting juice. Judy wasn’t the sort of mammal to cry. 

“Sorry,” she mumbled. “Just… it’s all finally hitting, I guess. We _failed._ ”

He didn’t have a response to that. Lionheart was still sitting pretty on top of the city, and Zootopia as a whole wasn’t exactly in an uproar. ‘Failed’ was an accurate descriptor.

“We’ll figure something out,” he said. It wasn't really an answer, but confirming her despair didn't sound smart either. She was clearly on the verge of tears; drawing her focus by giving her something to accomplish might help. 

“Where are you right now, Judes?” he asked softly. Just about the only outcome that could make everything worse was if she didn’t know, but considering that she had access to a phone it seemed like a fair assumption that she did.

“I’m in… ‘Badgerburrow,’ he called it. Way out from the city.”

Badgerburrow. Why did that name ring a bell? Something to do with… mining, maybe. Or agriculture. Probably both, if he had to make a guess.

“Good,” he placated. Now for a more difficult question. “Do you have a collar?”

Her flinch was nearly audible. Collars on prey were mandated by the city-state, and disregard for that rule was grounds for treason. An unowned (that word still felt degrading, even in his thoughts) prey mammal without one would raise all sorts of suspicion, inside or outside of Zootopia.

“No,” she said icily. He could tell that more protestations were just barely bit back, but she stayed staunch in silence. 

“Judy, please. I’m not asking you to wear it all the time, but even a fake one would let you blend in.”

“I’ve spent twenty-three years in a collar and another one getting out. I’m not _fucking_ going back to that, Ben.”

He winced, sighing thickly — at least their failure hadn’t dimmed her stubbornness. “Sorry.”

A regretful sigh emanated from the phone, quiet enough for Ben to wonder if he’d imagined it. “No, I shouldn’t have snapped at you. That’s on me. Just… Please, look into Badgerburrow? Something like a safehouse, at least?” she pleaded. Her voice was tinged with a certain desperation that tugged at his pity. More than likely, she’d be dead without help.

“Can do. You can call back tomorrow, right?” he said quietly. Mammals throughout the house — predator and prey — would be awake soon. Best to stay out of earshot.

She sighed again, and he realized he was starting to get sick of that sound. “Probably? If I can, I will, about now.”

That was… good. ‘Probably’ wasn’t quite as reassuring as he’d hoped, but it was far better than some of the other possibilities and he could work with ‘probably’.

“Call me,” he insisted. The only way they’d get through this was with careful planning and coordination, and he could tell neither of them were in a state well enough to outline their next steps. Hell, he almost felt like they were forgetting something.

Footsteps echoed in the hallway — Ben flinched, broken from his worryings. They were hard and heavy; his father’s, most likely. Getting caught on the phone would invite all sorts of unwanted questions.

“GottagoJudycalltomorrow!” he whisper-shouted into the phone, hanging up and tucking it back on the nightstand. With a speed befitting his species, Ben swiped a book from inside the drawer and flipped to a random page, presenting a picture-perfect portrait of a responsible pred. 

As usual, his father didn’t bother to knock. He slammed the door open, the doorknob colliding with its well-worn cleft formed after years of repeated abuse. The hard _thwack_ of metal on wood almost didn’t phase Ben anymore.

“Good morning,” Ben mumbled, trying to calm his heartbeat. Why did the room suddenly feel so small?

“Morning,” the larger cheetah said gruffly. One eye — the eye on the side not split by a socket-deep scar — trained on Ben with keen intensity, surrounded in an ocean of aging gold-gray fur. After a few moments of silence, he nodded, the suppressed fury still patrolling his eyes. It almost seemed to trail down his finely-pressed suit through the tiniest of ripples, a veritable ocean of walking anger.

Ben gulped audibly, glancing at his book’s title: ‘A Hierarchical Exploration of Zootopia & Tributaries.’ He didn’t recognize the author, nor the current page’s content, but considering most of the books in his room were unread it would’ve been more surprising if he had.

“Just… getting in some reading before the day starts,” he mumbled. 

“Good,” the other cheetah grunted. His tone nearly reached ‘pleasant,’ falling at the last letter. ’“Get the revolver and get dressed. Formal. Meet me in the dining hall in _ten minutes_ , no less,” he hissed, already turning to leave. 

Nodding, Ben jumped up from the bed, taking a sidelong glance at his father as the door slammed again with a violent _thump_. Calling him ‘brief’ would be generous even on the best of days, but there had been a certain extra terseness in his voice that made the smaller cheetah shiver. 

Disturbed, he turned towards his wardrobe, throwing on the most formal clothes he could find: a navy-blue suit, freshly washed by a prey’s paw, and a matching scarlet tie. The attire felt constraining and cold around his fur, molding his face into an uncomfortable grimace. He’d never understood the complex game surrounding what a mammal wore and what it conveyed.

His eyes shifted to the revolver on the dresser. As much as he hated to admit it, it was almost graceful; certainly not of Zootopian design. The barrel was a sleek silver with inset designs of ivy, and the wooden handle was stained a faded shade of turquoise. It slipped into his hand with an oddly comforting feeling, more like wielding an art piece than any sort of firearm.

Tucking it into his pocket, Ben hurried out into the hallway, quickly navigating his way to the dining hall. Despite years of living in the house, the halls were so labyrinthine that he still needed to check his mental map at just about every turn. Servant prey — far, far less than usual — dotted the hallways in small clusters or rushing from one location to the next, either staring at him hopelessly or never meeting his eyes. Guilt rushed into his stomach, accentuating the pain in his side.

Finally, and feeling far closer to vomiting than he had when talking to Judy, Ben arrived at the dining hall. It was enormous — mostly polished metal and plastic, with no corner left unlit by the harsh industrial-strength lights hanging securely from above. 

“Benjamin!” his father shouted from across the room, gesturing to the door next to him and then to his watch. “Hurry!”

Hesitating slightly, he jogged over to his father. By the anger on his face Ben could predict what was coming, and braced himself before it did. 

“You’re almost late,” the other cheetah hissed, cuffing him across the ear with one hand as the other opened the door. “And you know what happens to slackers?”

“They're dead,” Ben mumbled miserably, rubbing gently at his beaten ear. Thankfully, it didn’t seem to be bleeding. 

“That’s right. Now come on. Lionheart’s called the council.”

The pain seemed to vanish in an instant, replaced by an anesthesia of cold, icy shock. Somebody had dumped cold water directly onto his brain, he’s sure of it.

“Lionheart!?” Ben squeaked. “We’re going to meet _that_ Lionheart!?”

“Yes, and you’re not going to say a _word_ unless spoken to, understood?” he snarled. “Apparently they want you for testimony, and it’s about time you learn how the council works.”

The trickle of cold water running through his veins froze into sharp rivers of ice. _They know_. They know, and now they want him to confess. Everything is finally, _finally_ catching up to him. Air escaped his lungs in what might’ve been a gasp, but it came out as more of a choked sputter. 

“They won’t be long. Lionheart’s got more pressing concerns than some useless cheetah,” he remarked bitterly. “So you’re going to get up there and tell him that you’re innocent.”

The mortal panic shifts to confusion. Maybe they _didn’t_ know? The logistics finally catch up to him: if they knew that he was part of a plot to overthrow the Zootopian government, asking for his testimony would be a joke. He’d be killed on the spot, rightfully guilty of treason.

Somehow, that thought managed to calm his nerves, stopping his heart from pounding like it was having a fit. This would be an opportunity to hopefully disavow any lingering suspicion, not an arrest like he was a lamb brought in for slaughter.

He winced. Bad comparison. 

“ _Benjamin,_ ” his father growled threateningly. “We have to leave. Now.”

With a tentative nod, Ben followed his father out the door. Dread prickled in his stomach like he’d swallowed a cactus.

* * *

The first thing that Benjamin Clawhauser noticed about the inside of the council building was that it almost felt alive.

Not in a comforting sense. The walls’ angle was looming and oddly overhanging, twisted and spiraling from column to column in jagged arcs of steel, almost like metal veins, creating an optical illusion that seemed nearly writhing. He could hardly believe an architect was involved, but the structure seemed to hold just firm enough to be intimidating.

Ben followed behind his father to the giant wooden table perched in the center, trying to contain his terror. This was going to be a convergence of the most powerful mammals in Zootopia, and even if the room was empty he still felt a bubbling anxiety shift uncomfortably in his chest.

“We’re early,” his father provided unhelpfully. “Take a seat next to me and wait.”

He did. Slowly, so very agonizingly slowly, mammals trickled into the room; his nervousness fermented and frothed with each entrance. First a tiger, then a polar bear, and several more enormous predators, all clad in slick formal wear. Each strode in quietly, eyeing him with detached interest or a predatory stare.

And lastly: a lion. Fitted in a sleek pitch-black suit, his clothes seemed to swallow the surrounding brightness like even light was afraid of him. Not a strand of hair in his mane was out of place as he strolled confidently into the room, pushing the steel doors aside like they were tissue paper.

His footfalls seemed to hammer against the ground, echoing eerily throughout the room as he took his seat at the head of the table. Nobody dared to make a sound.

“Listen,” he began slowly, in a voice like frozen razor blades. “I’m not going to waste your time with our usual pleasantries, nor any of the other formalities. We’re here today because there has been an attempt at insurrection against the city of Zootopia itself.”

A low murmur worked its way through the room, equal parts confused and inquisitive. Lionheart silenced it by slamming his fist into the table, startling almost every mammal in the room.

 **“QUIET!”** he roared. “That was _not_ an invitation for discussion. We’ve captured one of the leaders, and the other is presumed dead. They are _not_ a threat,” he said lowly, nodding to the scarred cheetah. “Edgar?”

Both cheetahs flinched. It worried Ben to think that this was a mammal who was on first-name basis with his father, and the name felt more mired in condescension than camaraderie. 

“Within the past week, approximately 71% of our prey have either revolted or gone missing. The ones we’ve managed to capture have informed us that they were led by a rabbit and a sheep, identification tags JH614030 and DB617150, respectively. We don’t know how they were able to arm themselves or communicate, bu—”

“That’s enough,” Lionheart cut in sharply. “Have any other council members lost prey?”

A few — Ben counted a jaguar, black bear, and a couple others — threw out numbers anywhere from 5%-25%. Fury, violent and precise, bloomed on the lion’s face as the grins of the other council members turned absolutely bloodthirsty.

“ _Edgar._ I’ve brought you and your boy in because your home is the epicenter of this _outbreak_ ,” he spat. “This could’ve — _would_ have ended — far worse without my intervention. Uncontrolled chaos. Losing the war. A city in flames, razed to the ground until even the memory has been ground to dust.”

He let the statement settle over the room in a thick blanket of paranoia and worry. Ben had never understood the idiom of ‘deafening silence’ until now — the room was so still and noiseless that his ears began to ring.

“But I’m giving you a chance — ONE chance — to defend yourselves. Speak.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is probably the chapter most liable to edits/tiny retcons in the future. It's entirely possible I've contradicted myself already, and if so I would VERY much like to know. Thank y'all for reading.


	5. C : Cui Bono

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The council meets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We'll be back to Judy next chapter. Hope yall are well.

Ben didn’t quite have words to describe the feeling of being pinned under Lionheart’s gaze. The closest approximation would be a mixture of mortal terror — the kind drenched in adrenaline, awash in the instinct to run — and the cold metal of a gun at his head. It smothered any attempt at reasoning or excuse that tried to worm its way out of his mouth.

Edgar wasn’t quite as transfixed. With a tense snort that echoed throughout the Council’s chamber, he shattered the suffocating silence. “Are you kidding? I’ve been a part of this Council — the only cheetah in the history of Zootopia — for nearly two decades. Why would I throw it all away now?”

“I can assure you that I’m quite serious,” Lionheart said, paper-thin sincerity dripping from every word. “And I didn’t ask for a motive. I _asked_ why three-quarters of your prey have committed _treason_ ,” he growled.

“They’re _prey_ ,” Edgar said back quietly. “Does it really surprise you that they’d stoop that low?”

Lionheart stood up slowly, placing both paws on the table. If his gaze had been like a gun to their heads before, now it was like a rifle down their throats. Ben could barely breathe.

“Answer the question,” the lion snarled. “I didn’t call this meeting so you could deflect.”

“I don’t know why, alright!?” Edgar snapped, barely restraining his voice from a full-blown yell. Ben winced. “I’m just as confused as you are. Do you really think I _wanted_ my prey to turn against the city?”

“What I _think_ , Mr. Clawhauser, is that I could throw you and your son and a cell _this instant_ and we could proceed with the Council as normal. I want an explanation.”

Ben could _feel_ his father begin to shake with anger, projecting it into the air around him like a leaking battery. If this circular back-and-forth kept up, they’d be dead within the hour.

He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself as another silence descended upon the room. If he spoke up, maybe, just _maybe_ , they’d live. Skirt the edge of truth and fiction, spin them a story that would absolve them without revealing the whole picture. Besides, even if he was caught, it wasn’t like Lionheart could kill him twice.

He hoped.

“What if it was an inside job?” he said quietly. While Edgar had broken the silence with the verbal equivalent of a sledgehammer, Ben’s comment seemed to prick into the utter quiet like a hypodermic needle. Not a word in response came from any mammal in the room, long enough for Ben to wonder if he’d suddenly gone deaf.

“Explain,” Lionheart said quietly. His tone almost dipped into pity, just barely skirting the edge.

“Well,” Ben began, racking his brain for an explanation. What kind of problems wouldn’t have occurred if they had the support of his father?

“The numbers!” he blurted out suddenly, thanking every deity he could think of that his mind hadn’t blanked. “The numbers don’t make any sense.”

Trying to ignore the equally bewildered and venomous stares of the other mammals, he turned to his father. “You said 71% of our...” — he cringed at the word ‘our’ as it slipped out of his mouth with the distinct taste of wet chalk — “prey have either gone missing or revolted, right?”

Still furious, Edgar nodded, fixing Ben with a stare that made him suppress a shiver. 

“My father has access to their collars — the shock function and the sedation function. If he really was in control, we’d have near-full participation: close to 100%,” Ben babbled nervously, barely resisting the urge to tack a ‘right?’ on the end of his argument. 

“And how do you propose this coalition of prey infiltrated the houses of others?” a Councilmember called out. Lionheart quieted her with a glare.

They’d managed to coordinate with prey from other wealthy families — hell, even some prey from the outer slums — under the pretense of ‘errands’ or ‘messages’. None of them could be gone for more than a day or two without arousing suspicion, though. Radio helped, but not enough to make a difference.

“They would slip out, most likely. One by one, when and where nobody would notice,” Ben mumbled. His father never had been the observant type.

To his surprise, Lionheart nodded. The emotion sprawled tensely across his muzzle shifted away from anger to something far closer to simmering consternation. Ben could almost see the gears turning in the lion’s head. “I’ll concede that it’s possible, but I’m not convinced. Where were you two on the day of?”

Ben froze. That was… not something he could answer truthfully in front of the Zootopian council. He grasped for a passable excuse in his mind, but they slipped through his grip intangibly, more like the ghosts of ideas than anything concrete.

“We were having dinner with the Fangmeyers,” Edgar cut in, nodding to a tigress on the other side of the room, making a subtle gesture with his paw that only she seemed to catch. “Lambchops, if I remember correctly.”

All eyes in the room turned to the tigress. With an unsettling sparkle in her eye and a smile to match, she nodded enthusiastically. “I can confirm, _both_ Clawhausers were present. I’m sure my husband will say the same.”

Ben masked the confusion on his face with relief, stress gnawing at the edges of his mind. He couldn’t even remember the tigress’ name, much less any dinner they may have had together, but he wasn’t going to question the unexpected save.

“See? Innocent,” Edgar said seethingly. 

“I’ll admit, it is clear to me that… _further investigation_ is required,” Lionheart said slowly, sitting back down. “And I’m sure you all know that I won’t rest until we’ve apprehended the traitors.”

Another deafening silence spread over the room. Ben was starting to hate the ebb-and-flow of the room’s volume, like it couldn’t find a satisfactory middleground.

“I suppose we should move on,” Lionheart drawled, organizing his stack of papers. “The ZCM has its paws full, and our first quarter this year has…”

Ben felt his mind begin to drift, the voice of Lionheart becoming nothing more than a buzzing background to his thoughts. After the mental rollercoaster of defending himself in front of almost twenty mammals, his brain needed time to readjust itself before it imploded from stress. 

He could feel a headache coming on, too. Wonderful. The whip-like back-and-forth between councilmembers was drowned out in a haze of pain and cooling panic. A few words passed through his mental wall — “conscription,” and “mid-pred,” danced past his thoughts before zipping away, utterly devoid of meaning. 

A slam on the table broke him from his reverie. Was that the second or third paw-slam of the day? He’d already lost count.

“Quiet! We’ve got one more topic to go over,” Lionheart began. If Ben had thought it was possible, he’d almost describe the lion’s voice as theatrical. 

“The Zootopian front,” he finished. 

Ben could _see_ the spread of fascinated distaste arc from mammal to mammal like chain lightning. He shivered — The Zootopian front was the knife’s edge of the city-state, slicing into nearby countries on the command of the council. Battles were typically one-sided, but in recent years expansion had slowed to a crawl, despite the ever-recruiting military.

“General Winchester has reported 12 casualties in the last week. Skirmishes have been minor, and no ground has been gained,” Lionheart read off the paper in his paws. “No major players are dead on either side.”

Ben shrunk further into his chair as the mood shifted from anticipatory tension to…

Relief? He paused, eyeing each mammal with a newfound curiosity. The room seemed to come to a strange calm, like the day following a storm. It was almost surreal. He shook his head; clearly, he was misreading the room due his remaining stress, and the chessboard of politics in front of him probably wasn’t decipherable anyways.

“Winchester has requested prey to build additional trenches, and I’ve sent the appropriate amount — tags HU230000 to HU231000 — to compensate. The availability of food and water is on a downturn, but no cause for worry yet. Medical supplies and otherwise are still… passable.” He looked up from the report to scan the room, looking for questions. “And those are the important parts this week. Anything else?”

Slowly, and almost without his notice, Ben felt one of his paws drift to the pistol at his belt, as his claws ran absentmindedly over the wooden grip. Worrying over the war seemed so insignificant after hearing about it day after day, month after month. Were they really any closer to winning?

He shook his head. Right now, his concern was regrouping with Judy and figuring out a long-term plan. Staying in Zootopia and bothering himself with its affairs was not an option.

“Good,” Lionheart finished. “Now, we’re going to discuss something of a more… _sensitive_ nature. Clawhausers, expect another summons next week. You have yet to be proven innocent — nor guilty. We will continue without you.”

“What!?” Edgar hissed. Ben could nearly _see_ the colorful palette of swears trapped between his teeth, a chorus of profanity just barely contained. It was a miracle he’d yet to combust on the spot.

Lionheart raised a paw placatively, speaking in a voice so thick with insincere pity it bordered on mocking. “It isn’t permanent, but we can hardly have a suspected traitor on the council. You will be reinstated soon enough.”

Edgar’s anger seemed to plateau, going completely still. “ _Alright_ **,** ” he finally said, staring at the lion with pure contempt. Lionheart stared back, unimpressed.

“Let’s go, Benjamin,” he muttered, turning to leave. Without another word, Edgar stood from his chair and walked out the door, slamming it behind him with an echoing _thunk_. 

All eyes turned to Ben. With a nervous smile and wave, he pushed their chairs into the table and scurried to the door, Lionheart’s gaze still burning into his back. His exit was far quieter.

Outside, the sun seemed to shine lazily upon the parking lot, framing grey concrete against a field of inky asphalt. Edgar sat on the steps, a cigar hanging from his mouth as one paw ran over the scarred side of his muzzle. He nodded once when Ben waved at him.

“You still got your pistol?” he asked gruffly, in an oddly calm tone. Ben wasn’t sure if this was some new level of fury or it’d finally been quenched, but he nodded back nonetheless. 

“Good. We’re headed to the slums.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, feedback is appreciated.
> 
> Special thanks to ZAA for their assistance in editing, and mega-special thanks to ARK and TrashburgerBiz for beta-ing. You guys are the best.


	6. J : The More Things Change

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Judy tries to adjust.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lower-energy chapter, but I had fun writing it. We get our first peek into another pivotal character here, and in one or two more chapters Act 1 will be nicely wrapped up, all the pieces in play. As always, feedback is welcome.

“GottagoJudycalltomorrow!” came the voice of Ben through the phone. Judy flinched, swearing lightly at the shrill hum of the phone as it disconnected the call.

That was… abrupt. She considered dialing him back, but thought better of it; he at least promised to call tomorrow, and the tone of his voice hadn’t quite tipped into worrying territory. He’d probably just been interrupted.

With an uncertain grimace, Judy placed the phone back on the table. She’d made it through to Ben. That was _progress_ , and worrying over the debatably-minor details wasn’t going to help, especially considering how far she was from the city. 

What was next, though? Going back to Zootopia was completely out of the question, but that was the safest location for Ben to stay. Maybe she coul-

“Judy? You done with your call yet?” Nick’s voice echoed from the hallway, snapping her out of her thought process. There would be time for planning later. Right now, she should get a bearing on her environment. That’s what Dawn would do.

“Yeah!” she called back, unsure of what else to say.

Nick stepped quietly into the room, holding a tray laden with a few vegetables and a tall glass of water. His face was caught somewhere between a strained smile and a fearful frown, frozen in place like an ice sculpture. “Hey,” he started softly, his expression unchanging, sitting in a dusty chair and indicating to another nearby, “I brought you some food.”

She eyed the tray suspiciously. Poison was unlikely, as it would ultimately prevent him from eating her. Hunger begged her to take the offering, but her survival instinct screamed otherwise — food wasn’t supposed to be free. Then again, it seemed awfully convoluted for him to lead her on this far just to end her now.

“Thank you,” she said carefully, lowering herself into the wicker chair like it was made out of scalped fur. With a curt nod, she accepted the tray of vegetables, pulling it into her lap. It was mostly carrots; whether or not he was subtly poking fun at her, she couldn’t tell.

“So…” Nick began awkwardly. “That’s my end of the deal. You got your phone call, and I want my info. The earliest I can gather the folks that need to hear it is tomorrow.”

He paused to let her process that statement, his mouth drawn into a tight curve. 

“So how long do you plan on staying?” he continued.

Frowning, she idly poked at the carrots in front of her. That was a tough question; coordination was going to be slow with Ben, and it could take weeks of phone calls to get everything in order for… whatever they were going to do. Staying with a pred was moronic at best, but she didn’t have much choice, did she? There were fields stretched all the way to the horizon, and any other settlements she came across would be majority-pred.

“Awhile,” she said cryptically. Better to appear more composed than she felt; it’d give her a bit more leverage. 

To her mild surprise, the fox sighed gratefully as she took the first sip of surprisingly-fresh water. “Great! Just so you know, I’m not letting you stay here for free-”

God, what now? Did he want her for food? Sex? Devour her piece-by-piece, starting at the ears? 

“-so I’ll need you to work the fields.”

Oh. _Oh._ Judy felt herself let out a subtle breath of relief as the tension drained from her shoulders. That was doable, if unexpected. Manual labor wasn’t something rabbits were known for, but she figured it was only fair considering he was one: not killing her and two: giving her a place to stay.

“Sure,” she agreed, almost without thinking. Maybe she would make it out of this mess alive; the otherworldly optimism of this fox was infectious, even though she kept one eye on his claws.

Nick clapped his hands together, oddly excited. She still didn’t understand the motive behind his friendly facade. “How about you finish up your food and we’ll get started?”

“Now?” she asked, surprised. She was barely used to being out of a collar, much less working for a shady fox in the middle of nowhere. One paw rubbed the flattened fur around her neck; even the memory of the pointed shocks tingled like a loose noose of lightning. 

“You sure do like your one-word answers,” Nick observed candidly, violently breaking her morbid memory of the city. “I think you were way more fun to talk to when you had a knife to my throat.”

She almost — _almost —_ gave him the satisfaction of rolling her eyes, but managed to keep her irritation to an unimpressed frown. 

“Yeesh, tough crowd,” Nick said, amused. “Didn’t even get one word that time. We’ll work on it.”

Silently, and still staring at him with all of the emotion of a depressed cement block, she finally took a bite of the carrots in front of her. They were fresh and earthy, with a satisfying _crunch_ substituting any reply she would’ve given him.

“That’s fair. And yes, by the way, I did mean now. It’s still early in the morning, and I’m behind on the quota. So as much as I appreciate this thrilling breakfast conversation, we do need to hop along,” he said, standing after stretching languidly in his chair. 

“The quota?” Judy asked between bites curiously, ignoring his jabs. If she was going to be staying, it wouldn’t do any good to let him under her skin.

“I’ll explain some other time — it’s a big-picture sort of thing. Keeping this place running is… _complicated_ ,” he said in a voice she couldn’t quite place. “And I don’t do it alone. So the sooner we can get you settled, the better. C’mon,” he finished, offering her a paw. She took it warily, placing the now-empty tray on a nearby table. 

Releasing her paw once she stood, Nick gestured to follow as he slipped into the hallway behind him. The house wasn’t nearly as labyrinthine as it appeared from the outside, but Judy could see the obvious marks of age and disuse throughout. A thin film of dust and dirt covered almost everything, with a seemingly-random collage of stray tools or broken planks littering the hallways. Admittedly, there was less visible vegetation than the outside, but not by much.

“Sorry about the mess,” Nick interjected as he led her. “Cleaning this place doesn’t do much. Trust me, we’ve tried.” 

Judy remained quiet, instinct goading her to begin memorizing the house’s layout. In Zootopia, efficient prey were valuable prey; she deliberately kept her eyes on the fox’s swaying tail instead, spilling figurative ink on the mental map she’d begun to make. She wasn’t in the city anymore.

Finally, they arrived at the back. Nick pushed open the screen door with little effort — her eyes caught on the broken latch as she slipped outside into the fresh, chilly air. The rising sun gave the back of the house a low haze of light that pooled into puddles among the uneven grass, punctuated by the quiet _thunk_ of the door behind her. 

An amber field of crops extended as far as she could see, divided up into even squares the size of apartment complexes. Her jaw dropped; she’d never even _dreamed_ about this much open space before. How could Nick possibly care for this much land!?

Ignoring her astonishment, Nick trotted down the steps, waving to a group of mammals in the distance. She hadn’t even seen them until then, but a short figure broke off from the group and began to jog closer at Nick’s calling. One paw returned to her pocket where the knife sat, itching for use. She didn’t expect conflict, but it never hurt to be prepared.

“Wilde!” the figure yelled jovially from across the field. Their (his?) voice was rough and a touch nasally, like a plastic flute dipped in wet concrete. Judy flinched. “About time you got back. What took you so long?”

The jogging mammal’s face finally was close enough for Judy to see… a weasel. Male. The expression on his muzzle shifted from recognition to caution as he finally caught Judy’s eyes, but still he stopped in front of them, giving her a side-eyed look filled with uncertainty.

“Uh… Nick? That rabbit doesn’t have a collar. Are we having her for dinner? Cause — you probably forgot, but that’s okay — remember that incident with me and the rabbit's foot? It wa-”

“No,” the fox interjected hastily, shooting Judy a look of genuine apology. “We are _not_ having rabbit for dinner. This is our new... ‘hire’.”

The weasel eyed her backpack, biting back the obvious question. Prey weren’t known to keep bags. Under absolutely _no_ circumstances would she let him search it; Judy stared at him wide-eyed in warning as the silence began to drag.

Nick, sensing the increasing tension, peeking around furtively before theatrically leaning in. She wasn’t sure if the extra flair was to sell his next line or the fox was just dramatic. 

“Listen,” he began gently. “Even if you don’t believe this, I need you to keep it on the down-low. I know you like your stories, but this _must_ stay private. Got it?”

Like Nick had casted a spell, Judy watched the weasel’s doubt shift into pure fascination — a wide, toothy smile spread across his muzzle, filled to the brim with excitement. “I gotcha. Your secret’s safe with me, Wilde. Lay it on me.”

“This rabbit?” he began, an unsettling glimmer in his eyes, “She escaped from the city.”

In an instant, his white-hot interest melted into dull apathy. Judy didn’t blame him. “C’mon. Of course you got her from the city,” he said, unimpressed. “Tell me the _real_ … thing.”

Nick, undeterred, grinned as his tail twitched amusedly, giving Judy a sideways glance she couldn’t even begin to interpret. “I’m serious. I found her out by the forest _without a collar._ ”

The spark of intrigue reignited. Giving Nick a tentative once-over, the weasel glared at him skeptically. “Wilde, if you’re shittin’ me, I ain’t laughing.” There wasn’t any malice to the statement, but Judy still felt the fur on her neck rise instinctively. His voice was beginning to grate.

“Ask her yourself,” Nick replied easily. He didn’t seem phased by the casual distrust; instead, he almost seemed… bored, like he’d had this conversation before. Unconsciously, she felt her paw drift to the handle of her knife, startling slightly as she felt the cool bite of the metal.

The weasel’s gaze turned to Judy. Tersely, he held out his other paw, clearly intending for an introduction. She didn’t take it — most predators would avoid touching prey unless absolutely necessary, and Judy had found her limit for indulging questionably trustworthy predators this week — so after a small gap of stony silence he retracted the paw, clearing his throat awkwardly. A stab of pity worked its way through her stomach, but her pragmatism smothered it before it could spread.

“Name’s Duke. Duke Weaselton,” he said stiffly, his eyes drifting to the soft grass below him. “I run the mammal side of things here. You got any questions, come to me.” Each word glistened with apathy — he’d obviously repeated this time and time again to mammals, and she had a feeling it never stuck. 

With a nod, she adjusted her grip on the backpack slung over her shoulders, keeping the majority of it out of his line of sight. “My tag doesn’t matter. Call me Judy,” she said concisely, offering a carefully-crafted expression of fatigue. “And yes, I escaped the city.”

“No shit?” Duke marveled softly, staring at her in awe. His eyes snapped to the fox, but before he could articulate his thoughts Nick cut him off with a silencing paw gesture.

“She’s agreed to tell us the story on the condition she gets access to the house phone,” he explained, indicating to the rabbit as she gave another nod. “We’ll hear it all tomorrow. Right now, I need you to give her a rundown of the day-to-day. Can you do that for me?”

Smiling brightly, the weasel offered Nick an eager thumbs-up and a matching wink as Judy felt her stomach tighten. “Can do! I just finished coordinating everyone else, too,” he said. His eyes turned to Judy; she remained motionless, staring at his throat. This weasel didn’t seem like a threat, but she’d been around enough predators to know that they weren’t always as peaceful as they appeared.

Another lull in the conversation; if either predator was waiting for Judy to respond, they’d be standing in a tense triangle for a _long_ time. After a few more seconds, Nick cleared his throat, offering both a reassuring smile.

“Looks like you’ve got everything sorted, then,” he began, the fur on his head ruffled by a change in the wind. “Give her a place to sleep and all that, and make sure everyone knows she’s _off-limits_ ,” he warned. Weaselton nodded, clearly understanding, as Nick seemed to bite back the next comment.

Worry, thick like city smog, crept into the air. It urged Judy to defend herself, get out of the way of danger — she was actively conversing with two mammals that wouldn’t hesitate to kill her! This is what she’d spent the past _year_ trying to escape!

Internally warring with herself, Judy barely heard Nick’s goodbye as he sauntered back into the house, leaving the two shorter mammals alone. The quiet rustle of leaves in the breeze provided the only reassurance that neither had gone deaf, but Duke didn’t hesitate to stare at her blankly.

“Well,” he said awkwardly, “Let’s get started, cottontail. Follow me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. Stay safe, ya'll.


	7. J : Alone Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Judy gets some time to think, and learns why Nick wants to hear her story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay on this chapter, but it might be awhile between updates now. Currently taking a mental health break from my fandoms, but I wanted to push this out as a last hurrah. Hope ya'll are well.

The realization finally hit her thirty minutes later: Duke was unarmed.

Sure, he had his claws, but as he kneeled next to a blueberry bush she realized there wasn’t a single conventional weapon anywhere on him — the raggedy clothes he wore didn’t seem to conceal anything, besides a trowel and flask hanging loosely from his belt. Nick at least had a rifle, but this weasel was completely unprepared.

“And see, you sorta roll em’ off,” he explained, unaware of her sudden shock as he cleanly guided the fresh blueberries into a woven basket. “Not too hard. We ship these things off to the suburbs, cause they ain’t enough to feed the bigger preds. You don’t gotta worry about that part, though.”

Judy nodded absentmindedly, mentally cataloguing his technique. She’d promised herself that she was done with servant work, but if this was what it took to keep going, she’d begrudgingly oblige. 

Not that she’d do so happily. Her internal monologue was mostly a battle between her id screaming at her to stop and the rational parts insisting that this was worth it. Just a few weeks. Or months. Probably. Maybe more, if she was unlucky, and when had fortune ever failed her before?

“...and that’s about it. When you fill up a basket, head back to that shed over there,” Duke said cheerfully, pointing towards an oblong structure off to the side of the house. It seemed so small this far out. “Anything else, cottontail?”

Get her out of here. Don’t let Nick bring another collar. Keep her hidden away until Ben is ready. Magically tell her where Dawn or Doug or any of the others have disappeared to, or bring them back if they were six feet under.

“Nope,” she said evenly, not letting a single drop of turmoil leak out of her mask of calm. “I think I got it.”

“You sure?” he asked plainly. “I know rabbits ain’t much for physical... labor.” She could _see_ the bit-back comment bouncing around the inside of his mouth about the ‘physical activities’ a rabbit was expected to do, but thankfully he didn’t say anything.

“I’ve got this,” she spat, trying to ignore the prickling sensation grating across her fur like she’d bathed in expired milk. “ _Thank_ you.”

Duke nodded, somehow completely oblivious to her sudden flare of anger. “Nice. Workday ends at sundown, but you’ll get a break for lunch. Remember: head to the shed when you’re done,” he said, stretching as he stood. Leaving the basket, he began to walk off in the direction of the house, giving her a final wave goodbye as she glared holes into his back.

Whatever. Some preds wouldn’t have even spared her a moment to talk, and he seemed to know this place well. If she were going to stay here, she would need frie- _allies_ , whether or not they eyed her like their next meal.

Her gaze shifted to the basket, tracing the shoddy handle with her eyes. It was time to get her thoughts in order, and so with a mechanical edge in her movements she began picking blueberries and dropping them carelessly into the basket.

First off, was she safe?

...Debatable, but some long-buried shred of optimism in her leaned towards yes. Nick appeared friendly and clearly wanted her alive, but he was obviously hiding more than he let on. Surprisingly, nobody so far had actively tried to kill her, which was a nice change of pace from the last year.

Second, what was next? She’d been cut off earlier when starting to think about it, and yet she still didn’t have a good answer. Waiting for Ben to get back to her was the most reasonable option, but she _hated_ waiting. Admittedly, so far Badgerburrow was _leagues_ better than the city, but there was no guarantee that would last, and certainly no guarantee she’d still be around to take advantage of that fact.

Offhandedly, she wondered if it was pessimism or pragmatism that always kept the thought of death nipping at her heels. Maybe both, but either way she was grateful.

A quiet _creak_ broke her from her haze of thoughts, prompting a flinch. Glancing down to the sound’s source — the blueberry basket — a few seconds passed before she realized it was filled to the brim. She’d done her job unconsciously.

Fine by her. Out of all the things to holdover from the city, knowing how to tune out in the middle of a boring task might be one of the more useful, and killing time might become a necessity in the near future. The sun hung high in the sky — by her estimation, it was about noon. Time to head back.

Heat and fatigue pooled between her ears as she began walking to the house; the last few days were finally starting to catch up to her. She’d managed to nap earlier, but not enough to scrape off the tiredness, and not nearly enough to call herself rested. Maybe she could persuade Duke to give her a longer break.

As the shed came closer and closer, she realized it was almost the same as the house: vegetation crowded every nook and cranny it could amongst layered wood, dim and broken with age. The door was massive; big enough for an elephant, and the top hinge was shredded clean off. She remembered that the other shed — the one she’d slept in — was about her size, so it seemed reasonable to assume that this one was for larger mammals.

Luckily, the door was opened far enough for her to slip inside. The ground seemed to change consistency in an instant; her paws sank a quarter-inch into the earthy slurry that substituted a floor, like the top layer was quicksand. 

Ignoring the mud coating her paws, she continued inside, marveling at the size. It almost seemed bigger on the inside, and she had to make a full 360 to catch the bare basics of the room. The sheer size was almost admirable; Nick and Duke couldn’t have built it alone. 

Spying Duke in the far corner, she slowly padded her way over to him. He sat on an overturned bucket, hunched twitchily over what Judy could just barely make out as a book. Maybe some sort of ledger?

“Hello?” she called warily, still a few yards out. 

Immediately, he flinched, turning to her with a guilty smile and a quiet swear as he held the book behind his back. She motioned to the basket tiredly; whatever he was up to, it didn’t seem to involve her, and her growing exhaustion decided she didn’t care enough to find out.

“Oh! Hey, right, the blueberries,” he fumbled, setting the book down on a nearby desk. “Thanks, cottontail.”

Something in his eyes softened as he gave her a concerned once-over, his eyes catching on the fresh scars painted across her arms. They’d flared up in the morning sun, bright and rashy against her fur after working. With a furtive glance over her shoulder to make sure no other mammals were present, he took the basket from her paws and she stared back, silently goading him to offer the obvious question.

“You alright?” he asked bluntly, genuine concern lacing his words. “I know sometimes prey come in… _beat up_ , but by the looks of it you got some serious injuries, rabbit.”

She considered lying, but the weasel had already noticed her wounds, and besides that the question didn’t exactly seem malicious. Lingering suspicion urged her to misdirect him anyway, but it was promptly crushed by a wave of bone-deep exhaustion. 

“...I could use some rest,” Judy finally muttered. The words felt alien and thick coming out of her mouth; when was the last time she’d asked — much less been _granted —_ a break? It was a long shot, and asking absolutely could hurt, but she was running dry on patience.

To her surprise, the weasel nodded sympathetically. “That don’t surprise me. Most mammals do for the first few weeks, and it’s only your first day. How about I cover for you? On me. No favors or tricky shit like that, I promise.”

Doubtfully, Judy weighed the offer. Something about the directness of it was comforting, in a sense, and Duke didn’t strike her as the manipulative type. Then again, he was still a pred, and she’d met him _today_. That was not a very consoling combination.

“Thanks,” she began decisively, forcing herself into a choice. Dithering back and forth wasn’t going to help anybody. “That’d be great.”

Duke nodded absentmindedly. “No problem, rabbit. Take as long as you need — I’ll tell Nick you’re done for the day. D’you know where you’re going?”

Out of Badgerburrow, at the very least. She figured telling that to his face would not help progress their seemingly-budding acquaintanceship. 

“No,” she started, biting back a reflexive ‘sorry’. “I didn’t get to see much of the house. Is there somewhere safe I can sleep?”

He nodded again, with a nervous edge to the movement that caught her attention. “Go through the back door, head down the hallway, and climb the stairs. Guest room will be just to your right.”

Stepping forward slightly, he made a gesture she couldn’t even begin to interpret, but the tone of his voice told her all she needed to know. _“Close the door._ Some folk here aren’t as… friendly as me. They’re _unfriendly,_ ” he whispered conspiratorially. Despite the hollow silliness of his words, a snake-like shiver slithered down her spine, pressing against the weight of her backpack.

“I understand,” she said slowly, pawing at the outline of the knife in her pocket. Duke didn’t catch the movement. “Thanks again. You’ll tell Nick where I am?”

He offered a candid thumbs-up. “Will do. Go get some rest, rabbit,” he finished, shifting his attention back to the desk. 

Mirroring the thumbs-up as she turned back to the door, Judy gave one last glance to Duke as he opened his book again. Even though she was dead-tired, a creeping sense of _wrongness_ began to grip her as she mentally replayed their conversation while walking back to the house.

It wasn’t suspicion — although she certainly harbored a fair amount of that, too — but rather an inkling of incongruity, like she’d somehow fit a square peg into _another_ peg. There was something off about the way they’d talked, but she figured that would be best investigated once she was rested.

Following Duke’s instructions to the letter, Judy listlessly opened the house’s backdoor and ascended the wooden stairs at the end of the hall. Each footfall seemed to echo with a uniquely pitched _creak_ , like the ragged steps were part of a broken piano.

The thin veneer of silence returned as she reached the top, wearily headed to the closest door. “GUEST” was printed in messy white paint across the front, and so she pushed into the room, hoping to at least find a nest of hay to sleep on.

To her surprise, the room contained a bed — a _real_ bed. There were (admittedly cheap, but she could hardly tell) blankets and pillows scattered haphazardly across the mattress, and as she closed the door behind her she could smell the faint scent of clean fabric.

Her jaw dropped. She’d never slept in a real bed before; Zootopian prey weren’t given the luxury, and she didn’t know a single one that dared to sleep in their masters’ bed. A strange mixture of excitement and trepidation bubbled in the pit of her stomach, but her conscious brain demanded she take the opportunity while she could.

Climbing carefully onto the sheets, Judy marveled at the softness — it was somehow fluffier than even _Dawn’s_ wool, and nearly as warm. Was this really what preds used to sleep with? She wondered how they could ever feel tired.

As her thoughts finally drew to a stand-still, Judy raised the covers over herself and let her head hit the pillow. Fortunately, the room was unlit when she came in, and so soon the clutches of sleep won a very one-sided battle against her consciousness. A slight snore filled the room.

The door stayed firmly closed.

* * *

_The hallways of the manor were never empty. Subdued, maybe, but she’d never seen anywhere inside completely devoid of mammals. Even the tucked-away corners have their cleaners, which strikes her as awfully inefficient._

_Ugh. Clearly, she had run out of things to think about. JH, sighing, rechecked her mental map for the fourth time. Yes, she was going the right direction. No, there weren’t any faster routes. Sprinting from the backside of the house to the outside was always time-killer._

_Out of the corner of one eye, she sees a cheetah waving her over. Everything twists as her mind curls in on itself, retching violently as the memories are dragged to the surface. She’s suddenly standing still in front of him, nearly out the front door of the manor._

_“I- uh… Hi. JH614040, right?” the cheetah recited uncertainly, holding both paws behind his back as she adjusts to the new setting. Unease radiated off him in waves, choking the air with a thick haze of awkwardness. JH’s ear twitched._

_“JH6140_ **_3_ ** _0, sir,” she said quietly, bowing. Whatever this pred wanted, she hoped it would be fast. Wasn’t she in the middle of something?_

_“Ah. I don’t know if you know me, but I’m Edgar Clawhauser’s son, Benjamin Clawhauser. Please, call me Ben.”_

_“I don’t think we’ve met, sir,” JH replied mechanically. “But I do work for your father.”_

_Clawhauser — was it really okay to call him Ben? — nodded as his tail flicked nervously from side to side. “Y-yeah. I know. Actually, I was hoping to talk to you about… that. Could you get your sheep friend — DB617150, I think — and meet me at my office? It’s three doors down from my father’s. Don’t worry about your errand.” _

_Pain contorted her face into a long-suffering smile, rife with pure fear. She wanted to scream. “Of course, sir. I’ll go get her now,” she said, before darkness swallows them both._

_The dreamscape abruptly skipped an hour, walls and floors shuffling like a deck of cards in a tornado. JH, recoiling from the shock before forgetting it altogether, walked slowly down the main hallway, side-by-side with DB. The rabbit wore an expression of hopelessness, but the ewe’s was made of knives._

_“What do you think he wants us for?” JH asked miserably. As far as she remembered, neither of them had misbehaved recently; most of her bruises have faded._

_“I don’t know, JH, but I’m not letting him do_ anything _to you. Enough is enough,” DB snarled. Her voice is sharp as a nail and twice as pointed._

_“You’ll be killed!” JH whisper-shouted, horrified. “You know I can’t lose you. Please, DB, be reasonable.” Utter desperation dripped into each word, only throwing more gasoline onto the sheep's smoldering anger._

_“I’ve had enough ‘being reasonable’ for a lifetime,” the sheep muttered, finally reaching the door. “Let’s just get this over with.”_

_Reluctantly, JH nodded, knocking on the gilded metal twice. The door’s six times as tall as her and eight times as wide, but nonetheless the sound echoed eerily in her ears. A few beats of silence passed, and after a shared glance of worry the cheetah poked his head out. The smile he wore was infested with an unsettling amount of warmth, causing both of the prey to flinch._

_“Oh, good! You two made it. Come inside, quickly,” he whispered furtively, gesturing for them to come inside. Without hesitation, DB took the first step over the threshold, holding JH by the paw._

_Clawhauser’s office was… quaint. She could hardly imagine him working in such a small environment — it was more of a closet than anything fit for a predator. Preening silver and glazed wood wrapped the room in a tight grip, and a pair of stylized lights dotted the top. Scattered paper was strewn about the floor like a second carpet, and both prey took special care in avoiding each piece. _

_Closing the door quietly, Clawhauser turned slowly back at them, keeping his eyes drawn away. “Okay, first off, I need you to promise not to tell my father what I’m about to say. That’s an order.”_

_The concern that had mired their faces gave way to tentative curiosity. “Of course, sir,” they said unanimously._

_The cheetah took a deep breath in, then a shaky one out. Gathering every bit of courage he could, he finally focused his gaze on JH’s eyes, saying the next words very slowly._

_“I want to help you escape."_

* * *

Judy woke up to two distinct knocks as her fatigue fell away. Sleepiness clouded her brain, but she felt more rested than she had in weeks, and as her eyes slowly opened she was reminded why: she’d slept in an actual bed. Hesitatingly, she let her paws run across the fabric in a silent assurance that they weren’t part of a dream.

Two knocks again, this time a touch more insistent. 

“Coming!” she called. Taking a few more seconds to appreciate the comfort, Judy hopped out of bed, carefully making her way to the door. Even though the remnants of sleep pulled at her mind, she remembered Duke’s advice, pausing as her paw instinctively reached the door handle. “Who is it?”

“It’s Nick,” an unsurprisingly Nick-like voice answered. “Good morning to you too. Everything alright?”

She checked herself for injuries. Some of the scars had begun to set, and flecks of dry blood caked the tops of her paws. Nothing new.

“Yeah,” Judy said back, unused to the question. Honestly, she should’ve been expecting the unexpected — what _wasn’t_ going to be a new experience today? 

She let that thought wither under a razor-sharp resolve. Whatever was going to happen, she would defend herself and damn the consequences.

“Great. C’mon out whenever you’re ready; it’s a short walk,” Nick said casually. She could almost envision him leaning lazily against the door. 

Taking a quick inventory — backpack, knife, etc. — Judy padded over to his voice, cautiously letting the door open. It shut noiselessly behind her. The fox was standing against the opposite wall, amused at her wariness, and with a gesture for her to follow, Nick made his way to the stairs, his head disappearing below the pawrail. Hesitatingly, she followed, barely catching a view of his tail as he wound down a hallway towards the front.

As she jogged further to catch up, she couldn’t help but notice that the house seemed less active than yesterday. The windows had their fabric shades drawn, and the shoddy electric light bulbs above cast a duller light on the pale floorboards. Even the distant hum of mammalian activity she’d noticed before had gone, like the house was about to be demolished. 

After only a few minutes of walking, she realized they'd navigated back to the front, and she spied the phone still sitting patiently at its perch. Only a day or so before, she’d managed to escape the city and get back in contact with Ben. Duke and Nick, although certainly not trustworthy, were at least not outwardly trying to kill her. That had to count for something. As Nick slipped through the front and Judy followed, she let an aura of calm settle over herself. 

Until she saw what was outside. Mammals of all shapes and sizes, pred and prey — she assumed some were farmhands, based on their clothes, but others seemed better-dressed — sat in front of the house, whispering to each other. Some were collared, others were not, but regardless all of their eyes turned to Nick as he strode confidently across the porch.

“You wanna know why I need to hear your story?” he asked smugly. Judy, open-mouthed, couldn’t even manage a stare in response. How many mammals were _here_ _!?_ Less than a hundred, but that was still enough to floor her.

Nick smiled broadly, amused at her confusion, before gesturing to the small army of mammals in front of him. “We’re going to overthrow Zootopia.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have a good day. As always, feedback is appreciated.


	8. C : Maladapted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ben makes a quick visit to an outer city bar. For business reasons, of course.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're back! Updates should get more regular from here on out, and soon we'll be seeing more of the world of Dregs. Stay safe, ya'll, and leave some kudos if you enjoyed!

Ben couldn’t remember the last time he’d been to Zootopia’s edge.

Edgar was always the one that went, for typically unspoken reasons and unpredictable lengths of time. He was never gone too long, and it hardly came up in conversation. Not that Ben wanted to know.

Glancing out the car’s window, he noted the preening steel and electrical gleam of the inner city gave way to rotting brickwork and weathered concrete, winding streets that seemed to stop just as they began. There wasn’t another car in sight, as peeling orange-reddish paint loomed over street lamps casting a greasy amber glow.

He remembered the lamps. They’d been granted by the Council a few years ago after a lively debate as a ‘public project.’ Bullshit, for short. Anyone with sense could tell they were put in place to reinforce curfew hours.

“We’re here,” Edgar grunted, pulling the car to a rumbling stop outside one of the smaller structures. A cheap neon sign hung limply near the front — almost like a dead glow-worm, Ben mused — only vaguely in the shape of a bottle, with the door below awash in dull gloom.

“For _business_ ,” he clarified, catching Ben’s stare. “You know preds like us don’t drink; it’s… _unbecoming_. The less of my day we spend in this _dump_ , the better. Time is money, and if you don’t hurry I’m going to miss this opportunity _._ Let’s go.”

Business, as Ben had guessed; there weren’t any other options, honestly. Nodding, he nudged the door open, letting it close with a quiet _click_ behind him. Immediately, the acrid stench of kerosene slapped him across the muzzle, thick enough for both cheetahs to cough. 

Edgar muttered something about “damned lamps” as he double-checked the car’s lock, waving one paw in front of his nose. Ben did the same, side-eyeing the door with no small amount of trepidation.

Prickling nervousness ate at the edge of the younger cheetah’s fur, only slightly undercut by sheer force of will — this would likely not be a long trip. Probably. Unease had dug itself a deep nest in his stomach, commanding one paw to the curved handle of his revolver. Despite the humid air, the inset silver felt cold enough for Ben to flinch.

A quick spike of pain in Ben’s side as he stepped up the sidewalk’s ledge managed to remind him that his most recent experience involving loaded guns had not ended well, tightening his muzzle like he’d chugged seawater. At least this time he was the one _with_ the gun.

Edgar, undeterred, approached the door. One paw leisurely rested on his pistol, swinging open the door with a surprising amount of strength; both hinges whined miserably as they gave way to the pair, revealing almost exactly what Ben had expected: an oak-hued room blanketed in dust, dotted with small predators and the occasional collared prey.

All eyes turned to them as they entered, and for the second time of the day Ben was already sick of being the center of attention. Edgar silenced the scrutiny with a one-eyed glare, motioning for business to continue. Not one mammal met his leer. 

Leaning over to his son, the imposing cheetah spoke close enough for Ben’s ear to twitch. “Stay here. Don’t order anything, don’t talk to any prey, and _don’t_ give out your name. I won’t be long,” Edgar half-whispered. Ben wasn’t sure if he had a truly ‘quiet’ setting. Regardless, he offered a hushed acknowledgement, and with a curt nod in return Ben watched his father march to the back of the bar.

Well then. Sighing quietly, he scanned the room for an empty table, internally groaning as he did; nearly every seat was full. Most were occupied by preds — majority hyenas, with the occasional small fox or polecat — clustered into tight groups, sparing only quick, pointed glances in his direction. Common sense suggested that they wouldn’t dare to be hostile to a cheetah, but sitting nearby was still essentially asking for trouble. Again, he scanned the room.

To Ben’s mild respite, a lone table in the corner held host to just one mammal: an elderly raccoon. Drawing as little attention to himself as possible, the nervous cheetah quickly wound his way towards it, mumbling a quiet “excuse me,” to the mammals he passed; although anxiety nagged freely at his mind, Ben kept his eyes on his destination, nodding jovially as the raccoon spotted him. He tried very hard not to think about why the floors were sticky.

With a careful smile, the raccoon nodded back, prompting him to let out a breath of relief. Ideally, they could share a table quietly and he could be out of here in thirty minutes or less. Ideally.

Pulling a stool out from under the table, Ben checked the top for splinters in the wood before carefully perching himself on the seat. Across from him, the raccoon’s grin grew lopsided, amusement hueing his muzzle.

“Hi,” Ben offered gracefully. Mentally, he made a note to find a less pathetic way to introduce himself for the future, and maybe a nice hole to hide in for the next few eternities. Etiquette training didn’t help much when he was put on the spot.

“Hey there,” the raccoon rumbled quietly. A ragged set of clothes hugged his smoky fur, rough enough for the cheetah to itch just looking at them; one of his paws snuck behind his back, scratching under his fine-tailored suit empathetically.

Ben cleared his throat, uncomfortable. How did bar interactions work, anyways? He settled on a simple “May I sit here?” before something dumber could work its way out of his mouth.

Breaking out into a full-fledged set of snickers, the raccoon waved a paw. “Like I could do anything to stop you. Go for it.”

Right. This was the city’s edge, and he was a _big_ predator. That was a promising combination, but it would hardly be wise to push its limits. Better safe than sorry. Or dead. Or worse.

“Thanks,” Ben muttered. “I won’t be long,” he said, dearly hoping he wasn’t lying to the both of them. 

Shrugging, the raccoon took a tentative taste of his drink, his eyes flirting with the pistol at the cheetah’s side. “Either way,” he sighed; both words were tinted with a slight sloshed shade, but they also carried a surprising serenity. Thankful, Ben nodded.

It took him another few embarrassed seconds to realize the raccoon was still talking. “...and so what’s an Apex like you doing around here, anyways?” he asked shamelessly. Hopefully, the first part of that question wasn’t important; making a first impression, regardless of… _company_ , was still important.

“...Apex?” he echoed, confused. Was that a taunt or a nickname?

The raccoon offered another skewed smile, motioning to the cheetah’s suit and slacks with one claw. “Inner-city folk,” he explained lazily, taking another sip from his mug.

Ah, slang from the slums. He should’ve known. “Just business,” Ben offered laconically. 

Chuckling lightly to himself — with a disturbing amount of lucidity, Ben noted — the raccoon shrugged once more. “You’re a terrible liar, y’know,” he observed. 

Wait, what? “Excuse me?” Ben sputtered back indignantly. Was this raccoon insane? He _knew_ Ben was from the inner-city, not one of his outer... colleagues. 

The raccoon paused before answering, staring candidly at the cheetah’s muzzle. “I can tell. You ain’t the lying type. Not the violent type, either, I’d bet.”

With a truly empty confidence, Ben matched the raccoon’s gaze. His tail stood still as steel. “I’m an inner-city pred,” he countered halfheartedly. More like third-heartedly, if he was being honest. “You said it yourself.”

A newfound respect worked its way into the raccoon’s eyes. Not enough to wash away the lingering curiosity, but enough to embolden Ben. “That the truth? You’re a Clawhauser?”

It took every _ounce_ of willpower for Ben not to flinch, but his hesitation was long enough for the raccoon to whistle appreciatively.

“Y’are! I knew it. Bottom of the totem pole ‘round there. Used to be a bunch of foxes, y’know, before the Clawhausers muscled their way in.”

Dammit. Any potential anonymity fled the realm of possibility with all the grace of a piano tumbling down a flight of stairs. Neck-deep in shock, Ben couldn’t put together a coherent retort, but the expression on the raccoon's muzzle suggested it wouldn't have helped.

“S’pose I should introduce myself, then,” the raccoon mused to himself. Ben was unconsciously busy miming the fish-eyed look of the recently slapped, but nonetheless he mindlessly shook the offered paw as it made its way towards him. “Charlie. Local alcohol conni- I mean, cunno-” He frowned, consternation passing across his muzzle as the word escaped him.

“Connoisseur?” Ben suggested. A tingle of amusement broke through his stupor, almost bubbling up into a nervous laugh.

Charlie sighed appreciatively, drumming his claws across the cheap wooden tabletop in a sharp staccato. “Con-no-sur,” he sounded out absentmindedly. “Damn, that’s hard to say.”

It was Ben’s turn to grin, despite the unease edging his fur. There was an unorthodox charm surrounding this raccoon; it was beginning to pick and scrape away at Ben’s timidity, inch by hard-earned inch. Yes, he’d been found out in under five minutes, but it wasn’t like the whole _bar_ knew. Not yet, anyways.

“You want a drink, by the way?” the raccoon asked candidly, yawning.

This time, the uneasy laughter managed to wrangle its way through his mouth, spewing out in a cascade of smothered coughs. His smile held firm thanks to years of practice. “N-no thanks,” he said.

“You sure? Most mammals would jump at the chance for a free drink.”

“I’m not most mammals,” Ben mumbled wearily. Even if he was allowed to drink, he’d heard enough horror stories to stay firmly away from the stuff. Preds and prey alike going near-feral — a total loss of control. The thought alone sent a set of shivers through his tail, prompting a quick once-over of the room. No hostiles.

Charlie sighed. “Fair ‘nuff. I’d bet you got loads of the stuff at home,” he thought aloud. Subtlety did not seem to be his strong suit, but Ben found it to be strangely admirable.

Shrugging evasively, the cheetah made a noncommittal gesture. “We — apex preds, you said? — don’t drink. Almost nobody in the city center does.” It was such an obvious fact that he barely spared a thought to keeping his mouth shut.

“Really!?” Charlie said. The expression on his face almost leaned towards impressed. “Huh. The wolves where I work do, but they try to hide it. They’re shit liars too.”

He decided to ignore the half-playful jab. Even if Charlie was seeing how far he could push, Ben didn’t have to indulge him. The less this conversation focused on the cheetah, the better. “Where _do_ you work?” he echoed. 

“Steel mill. One of the goddamn thousand or so ‘round here,” the raccoon answered easily. It was too fast and too believable to be a lie. 

Absently, Ben wondered if his lack of specificity was a dodge or a simple consequence of his drink. “I’m surprised I didn’t see any on the way in,” Ben said honestly. 

Charlie shook his head wistfully. “Nah. Canal District is where most of the factories are. A buncha’ folks live here, ‘cept for the poor bastards who sleep at the damned things.”

Ben frowned, convinced he’d misheard. Maybe he meant ‘near’? “Isn’t the housing-” it’d be generous to call it ‘housing’ but he didn’t have a better word — “there for prey?” 

“It’s _supposed_ to be for prey,” Charlie corrected. He drew aimless shapes into the table, tracing claw marks made by less careful bargoers. “But some of the small folks realized they’d get more hours if they stayed on-site. As long as the prey are collared, nobody minds.”

“That seems…” Ben trailed off. His brows knitted together, weaving a line of worry.

“Efficient? Damn right it is. I’m considerin’ movin’ there myself, just for the extra pay.”

Huh. A gnawing question tickled at the edge of his thoughts, impatiently waiting for him to grasp it. After a second or so of hesitation, it barreled right out of his mouth before he could stop it.

“Why not enlist? They’re always looking for recruits,” Ben asked.

A shadow of anger passed across Charlie’s face, gone just as quickly as it arrived. His muzzle broke out into an unnervingly jovial smile. “Already have. Served for twenty years, and discharged a few months back,” he said conversationally. A certain glimmer of resentment in his eyes begged for the matter to stop there.

Sensing the sore subject, Ben decided to back off. “Ah. Apologie-

 _SLAM!_ went a door near the back of the bar, loud as the crack of a whip and twice as sharp. A near-visible wave of flinches rolled across the room.

Edgar was back. With a singular keen eye and a grand total of zero subtlety, he picked Ben out of the crowd and absently gestured for them to leave, while Charlie did his best to ignore the spark of vitriolic curiosity glared his way. The group of polecats next to him shared a meaningful glance, keeping their heads low as the cheetahs locked gazes. Palpable strain burned humid in the air as each puts the other’s view into perspective.

For Ben, it’s simple and marrow-curdling: his father sees a mug of alcohol between an unsightly raccoon and a certain miscreant son. Hard to misconstrue the scene, from an outside view.

For Edgar, it’s shamefully obvious: his son has broken orders, likely given his name out and created a complete mess of this trip. Of course. The one time he’d brought Ben to the slums.

A scorching string of swears slithered out of Edgar’s mouth, silent and disturbingly mechanical; his jaw moves like it’s manipulated by a puppeteer, shifting between a seething gape and a teeth-grinding gnash. Despite the relative clamor of the bar, Ben swore he could hear each of his father’s fangs clench and grate as the reality sank in. Edgar was out the door before Ben could shout a word in edgeways.

“Well damn,” Charlie observed. “He looked fuckin’ _pissed_. That yer dad?”

No point in hiding it. The cat was officially out of the bag and onto the streets. “...Yeah,” Ben said weakly. “I’d better get going. Thank you.”

A mask of … _something_ had fallen over his tablemate, to Ben’s surprise. Up until then his emotions had been fairly easy to read. “Worst that happens is you get a little banged up,” Charlie placated. “Nothin’ new. C’mon back if you wanna talk again — I’m almost always here.”

Those words barely registered, but thankfully one sect of his brain managed to file away that information for later. The majority, however, was consumed with worry. Sure, he hadn’t done anything wrong, per se — maybe letting his anonymity slip was fair game, he thought as the death march to their car began — but that wasn’t what’d mattered. He _looked_ guilty. The thin veneer of Edgar’s expectations had been demolished before his eyes. All he could do now was await the fallout.

He’d survive, though. As he pried open the bar door and shakily stepped outside, Ben was at least certain he’d live to see tomorrow. There’d be punishments — dire ones, more than likely — but killing was off the table. It’d be a waste of an heir, no matter how worthless Ben was.

“Just get it over with,” he mumbled to himself. Edgar’s car stood proudly in front of him, a now-foreboding work of metal and shining glass. He could see his father’s muzzle, turned away, staring out the windshield as his paws held the steering wheel in a neck-wringing clench. Disappointment outshined the fury.

“ **GET IN.** ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. As always, feedback is appreciated. I know this was only a small dip into the outer city, but I promise we'll get to see more of it later on.


	9. C : Semper Idem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ben learns about Badgerburrow, and an old ally returns.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long. Hope ya'll are okay. More will be coming soon, I hope, if I can wrangle it to be less "edgy nonsense" and more "poignant story". As always, feedback is appreciated.

_“It could be worse, y’know,” the cheetah said quietly. A veil of numbness choked the room all noise, besides the quiet sound of crying. “Most preds aren’t like us. They live in their hovels, scurrying like rats in an endless maze. Just enough food and water to get by, convinced that they aren’t meant for greatness.”_

_“But us? We’re at the top, Benjamin, and I’ll do whatever I have to in order to keep us here. So get up. I didn’t hit you that hard.”_

Surprisingly, it’s not always _getting_ knocked out that’s the issue. It’s harrowing, sure, but hardly a guaranteed death knell. The kicker comes after — the sudden leap from the limbo of unconsciousness to the acuity of reality, the frantic whirring of a machine as it returns to life. In Ben’s experience, that’d always been the most worrying part.

Each of his senses recovered erratically, in bits and pieces and hints trickling into his brain like a liquid jigsaw puzzle. First was the baritone buzz of medical machinery. Soon, the woolen weight of a blanket reached his brain, and with that the rest began to dribble in.

“Are you awake, sir?”

Ugh. A voice. The melted mush of his mind vaguely recognized it as matronly-sounding, but it couldn’t conjure a name, and his returning vision didn’t help much, either. 

“Yes,” Ben croaked. As his eyes finally cleared, the speaker came into shape: a broad-shouldered lynx, wearing a lily-white overcoat. A small red plus adorned her lapel; she must’ve been the new family doctor.

He wrenched his body into a sitting position, flinching at the pain in his… _everywhere_. A cavalcade of new and old bruises clung to his fur like a second set of spots, but luckily he’d become accustomed to the feeling. More scars to add to the pile.

“Mmm,” the lynx muttered, accentuated by the scratchy titter of pencil on paper; she sat cross-legged on a nearby chair, clipboard in-paw. Several pieces of medical equipment surrounded her in a disorganized array, almost forming a trail back to his bed.

His bed. With an unfocused blink, Ben finally realized where he was: back in his bedroom. The sheets were freshly washed, only marred by the occasional constellation-like stains of aged blood. Nothing new.

Turning his attention back to his bedside attendant, he realized they hadn’t been introduced; he’d never seen this mammal before. Was she a new hire? If so, an introduction was in order. “Hello?” he asked tiredly, gently rubbing one bruised eye with a bandaged paw.

“Greetings,” she mumbled. “I’m almost finished with this, and I’ll be out of here soon, sir, I promise.” 

“What?” 

Her gaze shifted from her forms to his eyes, peering at him eerily. “You’re injured,” she stated plainly. “And I’m a doctor. Your father reported that you were —” she flipped through her notes — “attacked by prey in the last few hours, sir. Nothing too grave.”

Ah. Right. He’d been… _disciplined_ , perhaps a bit harsher than normal. “That’s correct,” he affirmed robotically; the sensation of lying almost didn’t register anymore, and it quickly overcame the urge to introduce himself.

“Mmm,” the lynx repeated, standing up to gather her supplies. Each of her medical tools slotted neatly into a boxy wooden case, just about the size of a thick pillow, the inside lined with cushiony grey foam. “I’m your new doctor, by the way. Dr. Madge — your previous caretaker, I was told? — has pursued… other opportunities.” A certain tint of envy hued her words, but her movements were precise and fluid, marred only by the occasional tremble.

Wincing, Ben nodded sympathetically; he’d had an inkling Madge hadn’t been paid enough. Nothing to be done about it now, though. “Pleasure to meet you,” he said simply.

She offered him a quick nod, barely acknowledging the second attempt at introduction. Instead, her attention seemed to solely rest in getting out the door as fast as possible — her medical case shut with a decisive _thunk_ as she swept it into her grasp. 

“Good to meet you too, sir. I’ll leave you be.” She didn’t so much speak the words as throw them behind her, swiftly slipping out of his room before the confusion could even fully unfurl across his muzzle, much less before he could ask her to wait. Not a sound had been made when she carefully closed the door.

Head still spinning like a top on the ice of the Tundra District, Ben tried to reconcile himself: they had a new family doctor, he’d been knocked out for an undetermined amount of time, and there was more than likely work he was expected to do. Great. All of that was manageable, sure, but it was hardly going to help him save Judy.

Judy. With a quiet curse, Ben’s attention snapped to his bedside clock, mouthing the time. 7:11 P.M. He’d been out for somewhere close to nine hours, but thankfully it was long before he expected Judy to call. If he was lucky, he could still learn about Badgerburrow before then.

Stretching uncomfortably, one of his paws brushed against his revolver, still clung firmly against his thin waist, prompting him to perform a once-over; his clothes were intact and he didn’t seem to have lost anything. That was good news, at least.

A dull, impatient stab of guilt guided his body to the door. Claws resting above the doorknob, Ben sighed. He’d already spent too much time… _asleep,_ and undoubtedly there was work to be done.

* * *

The hours bled into one another, honestly. One moment he was processing an especially tedious batch of paperwork, reviewing some tiny toothless corner of Zootopian law. In the next, he was kneeling in front of his political tutor, being lectured on bureaucratic trivia he can’t even pretend to care about anymore. The knowledge that every second was one used not saving Judy played on loop in his mind; even during the height of their insurgence, on the day before it all went south, his daily routine has never before felt so relentlessly empty.

Thankfully, the clock only moseyed _forward_. After an agonizing amount of inactivity, he was finally free, and the sinewy strands of shame slithered away. First order of business: locate Badgerburrow.

Dim, dappled moonlight guided him towards the oldest and least wing of the house: Records. Although Edgar almost certainly had a book of tributary towns — and only him, it was “too great a responsibility” for Ben, apparently — it was the location that mattered, not the date. This was his safest option; the cheetah shivered at the thought of stealing from his father.

The harsh electrical lighting present everywhere else faded, replaced by unused kerosene lamps and a vast assortment of windows. No use in upgrading what technically worked; that was hardly profitable, after all, and it wasn’t like any other high-ranking predators would see back here.

Each step was voided by the shaggy carpet below him, but the quiet was almost pleasing. No cutthroat rush, no high expectations. The entire house seemed to take a moment to calmly exhale, and he almost wished the short trip to his destination was longer.

At last, he arrived at a plain wooden door at the end of a hallway. It emanated an almost-pleasant aura of solitude, but before he could dwell on the thought Ben had pushed his way inside. 

He was greeted by stacks upon stacks upon _stacks_ of paperwork. Steel shelving units lined the walls like insulation, each bearing a tiny white label in black print; it was, by all accounts, a cheaper, grungier version of his own office.

Quietly, Ben thanked every deity that came to mind; the shelves were alphabetized. With a renewed vigor he navigated to the nearest ‘B,’ wondering offhandedly how such sordid sorting methods managed to stay intact over so many years.

Finally! A genuine smile broke out across his muzzle as he spotted the name ‘Badgerburrow’ in penciled black font, neatly labelled on a particularly neglected drawer. There was a quiet screech of metal on rails as he opened it to reveal a cavalcade of folders, but to his delight a business abstract sat in front. Just what he needed.

Ben pulled it out with a gentle touch, like it’d crumble to dust if he even stared at it for too long. Scanning the front, he recognized a few key phrases seeded amongst the dense talk of expected output and continued loyalty. It was primarily a provider of raw goods — one side shipped energy-dense prey feed back to the city, while the other supplied ore to be used in Canal District factories. A nondescript town, for the most part, and host to one or two ex-city preds. 

Continued searching revealed a few other useful items: a map of Zootopia and its surroundings, with Badgerburrow circled below in aged red ink; a short list of the major exporters present; and lastly, a small grainy daguerreotype of the sign outside the city.

A buoying sensation of victory swept through him; this was real progress! Ben let out a relieved laugh, tail flicking aimlessly in joy. Carefully, as not to break anything inside, he slid the drawer completely out of the cabinet, bundling it between his arms. Nobody would notice the files missing, and even if they did it was hardly worth investigating. He turned back to the room’s front, shuffling his way out the door with bubbling vigor. 

The route back to his room barely registered in his mind — most prey were too wrapped up in their own tasks to even acknowledge him, much less question why he held a dingy metal drawer like his firstborn — and he entertained himself by watching the manor slowly reshape into the immaculate steel and fake wood he was used to. It was almost like a physical spectrum of wealth, as one by one the cobwebs began to fade from sight. 

Another part of his mind was whirling with possibilities. Now that he had information, next up was finding a way to visit. And after that…

He paused. What _was_ their plan, exactly? Slipping out of the city would be hard enough, and he would be expected to return within a few days. Judy would staunchly refuse to return, but obviously she wasn’t keen on staying in Badgerburrow, either. 

They needed somewhere outside the clutches of Zootopia. 

Shaking his head, he vowed to think on it as the door to his room came into view. They still had time, thankfully, and optimism could mask his worry in the meantime. 

Ben slipped inside and quickly navigated to his bed, slotting his prize underneath. A near-perfect fit. The wide smile that had followed him from Records finally settled into a gentle grin until his eyes met with a nearby mirror.

He stopped. Turned. Stared into his reflection, as if his eyes were playing tricks on him. There was a bruise over his eye, a muted purple hue peeking through the wheat-gold of his fur. It tracked past his eye, nearly to one ear.

A hiss escaped him before he could restrain it. It was so preternaturally _wrong_ ; he’d never been a vain mammal, but seeing this awful mark across his face inspired a piercing hatred to well up from his chest. 

He looked like Edgar. 

Unfiltered dread joined the chorus of emotions rolling over him as he dragged his eyes away from the mirror. Now was not the time to be worrying over something this… _trivial_ , and besides that it was just a bruise. 

His stomach began to growl, stealing his attention from the disquiet; a distraction sounded just about perfect right now. When was the last time he’d eaten? Glancing at the clock, he weighed whether he should eat before Judy called; it wouldn’t take him that long, and in a pinch he could always bring his plate back. It wasn’t like he had much better to do, for now. 

Deciding it wouldn’t hurt, Ben took one last proud look at the drawer hidden under his bed as he slipped back out of the room. Things were finally, _finally_ looking up.

* * *

If he was being honest with himself, he hated the dining hall. Tacky tapestries clashed against electrical lighting in the worst of ways, and the faint smell of smoke seemed to linger in the air no matter the time of day. The fact that Lionheart sat at the head of the main table didn’t help.

He did a double-take.

 _Lionheart_ was sitting at their wide wooden table, next to Edgar. They were talking — no, arguing, Ben realized as he caught the one-sided tension pushing against his father — and it didn’t seem to be going anywhere. Their meals lay forgotten in front of them, and the same lethal aura from the council room seemed to hum around the lion. 

Their gazes shifted to Ben as he stood agape. Lionheart motioned him over, while Edgar adorned an expression like wet sandpaper. A small metal cage sat between them, but Ben couldn’t make out what was inside.

His legs moved on their own; the idea to disobey didn’t even begin to form, utterly crushed by the lion’s gaze. As long as he followed, he wouldn’t be hurt. Probably.

“Benjamin,” he said as the timid cheetah approached. There was an unsettling calmness in both his voice and his movements as he slid the cage into view. Ben’s mind could barely process what he saw.

Inside was a small, white ewe wearing an expression of pure hatred. 

Lionheart tapped the top with one needle-sharp claw. “Do you know Dawn Bellwether?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Worried this chapter feels rushed, and so I may come back for a round of (non plot-relevant) edits in the future to smooth out the prose. Tell me what you think in the comments below, and drop a kudos if you enjoyed. Have a good day and stay safe, ya'll.


	10. J : Desperately Safe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Judy makes a speech.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Proud of this chapter. Hope y'all enjoy reading it just as much as I did writing it. Have a good day and stay safe, everyone!

Judy considered herself a mammal with a sense of humor. Although jokes were few and far between in the unyielding walls of the city, she still felt that comedy had a time and place.

But _this?_ This was by far the dumbest, most sardonic joke the universe could’ve pulled on her. As she surveyed the crowd in front of her, the roiling mix of emotions occupying her stomach finally reached a boil. Her face, however, managed to stay frozen in a mask of utter neutrality. Smooth as fresh ice.

“You’re going to overthrow the city?” she parroted. Judy could _feel_ the crowd’s gaze on her, urged on by a curiosity that was nearly thick enough to swim in. 

Nick, seemingly unbothered by the sudden attention, smiled brightly. “That’s the plan.” 

A lone microphone stand leaned sickly against the porch’s railing, and with a graceful swoop Nick offered it to her. She took it, mind still filled with a bubbling static.

Judy took a deep breath in, then out. These mammals had congregated — prey and predator, collared and uncollared — just to hear her speak, to hear her story. 

It might’ve been a mocking one, but the universe had pitched her another chance, and with that thought the words began to flow.

“We can’t win,” she said plainly.

She didn’t dare let her gaze meet the crowd’s expression.

“Zootopia is unconquerable. Unshakable. Immovable, invulnerable, invincible. It’s an empire built brick by unbreakable brick. Not one of us could make a goddamn dent in the city, together or alone.”

“I’m telling you this because I tried. _We_ tried. Thousands of prey and smaller predators gathered under one roof out of sheer defiance. By today, almost all of them lie dead, silenced before the outer city had even a chance of realizing its opportunity. I’d call it a massacre — Lionheart would call it a waste of food. When Nick found me in the fields, chased miles away from the city, I thought I was the last one left.”

Judy paused, nearly breathless. The sparks of defiance had rekindled into a blazing bonfire. “But,” she said, letting the word ring out like the slam of a gavel in the crisp afternoon wind, “I’m not. The last word has _not_ been said, the final flame has _not_ been extinguished, and the final bullet has _not_ been fired!” she shouted. 

“I stand in front of you today not as a hero or a martyr, but as a mammal that made a promise. Zootopia _will_ fall. Maybe not in my lifetime, and maybe not in yours, _but it will fall,”_ she insisted. “And I’m going to do everything in my power to help that happen. Even if it kills me.”

It occurred to her, as she spat the last word with a relentless resolve, that the crowd hadn’t dared to interrupt her. 

She tilted her head up in defiance, surveying the menagerie of expressions on display as the sound of uneasy clapping grew. Unfocused anger. Misplaced hope. Piqued curiosity, burgeoning pride, undisguised distrust, and so much more.

Nick stepped up next to her, wearing a smile split straight down the middle between damage control and renewed interest. The gears turning in his head were nearly audible as Judy passed him the mic; there would be time to tell the whole story later.

“Thank you, J- I mean… Carrots.” A colorful patchwork of emotions gripped the air, but Nick seemed to navigate it with nothing more than a charming smile and a sweeping gesture to the crowd. “You heard her, folks — escape _is_ possible. I’ve called you all here today to show you living proof that Zootopia isn’t always in control.”

Her eyes narrowed unconsciously at the nickname, but it dawned on her that giving out her name — or worse, her tag — to such a large group would be unthinkably stupid. As a low murmur of conversation broke out amongst the sea of mammals, she took another glance at Nick, noting that he didn’t seem particularly fazed; this was probably a normal occurrence. Her eye caught his.

“Sorry about the surprise, by the way,” he said, gently placing the mic at his feet. “Bit rude of me to throw a new friend up on the stage like that, I know, but I really needed this to happen. Motivation has been... in short supply.”

“It’s alright,” she confirmed hesitatingly. Having such an admittedly conversation with a fox still pricked at her subconscious, and the mumbled din of their onlookers certainly wasn’t helping her focus. “It was part of our deal.”

Nick smiled. “Thanks. You can head back into the house if you want; we can get the rest of the story some other day. No rush.”

“I’d like to say a little more, actually.”

Surprise flitted across his muzzle, but it quickly resolved back into a wary, probing grin. “That’s… fine by me. Would you mind leaving questions until the end, though?” he asked, receiving a quick nod in response.

The muttering mass of mammals seemed to quiet as discussion finally ceded to curiosity underneath. Scooping up the discarded mic to recapture their attention, Nick presented it to her once more.

Taking it carefully, Judy subtly kept her paws as far from his claws as possible. Whether or not this was a charade, it was not the time to be taking chances.

“We started small,” she recalled, choosing to sit on the oaken stairs. Hearing her own voice magnified by the shoddy speakers steadied her heart. “Just another prey and I, tired of… _everything_ , really. The work, the abuse, the fear. Originally we just wanted _out._ ”

She could _see_ the words ‘that’s impossible’ on the faces of the front row, collars blinking like a line of morse code. “Yeah, I know. We thought it was hopeless, but we didn’t have a whole lot to lose.”

“Our first obstacle was the walls. Fifty-odd feet of raw concrete and steel — taller than three elephants combined, topped with rusty barbed wire. Nobody has or ever will scale it. Only way in or out are seven gates, spaced evenly around the edges: three in the Canal District, two in Tundra, one each in Savanna and Rainforest.”

She gauged the crowd’s response. A few nods and shared glances, mostly from the small preds. Good enough.

“We didn’t make much progress, at first. The constant labor and fear had our time in a stranglehold, and every night was another opportunity for the ZCM to break down our door.”

 _That_ got a reaction. Ears perked and wavered at the acronym, and another round of shared glances sparked throughout her listeners.

Judy took another breath in. “W-

“And that’s all we have time for, folks!” Nick interjected, offering her a pacifying glance as her mic was audibly cut. “Thank you for listening. Carrots will be with us for… at least the next few days, so I’ll call us together again soon to hear more. As always, updates will be available through the radio at 10pm.”

A jumpy, abrupt murmur of agreement was his answer. Judy, far more confused than the crowd, side-eyed Nick as he swiped the attention away from her; mammals calmly dispersed in every direction before he’d even finished speaking. 

“What the hell?” Judy hissed to him quietly. Curiosity had settled into her voice faster than anger could. “I wasn’t done. I didn’t even get to the useful parts.”

Nodding — both to her and the retreating audience — Nick sighed. “Sorry. Having this many mammals in one spot for too long is... a security risk. You’ll get used to the quick dismissals.” 

“We had to do the same thing in the city,” Judy supplied. Anger at being cut off still subtly jabbed at her; she hadn’t even reached the five-minute mark! “Everyone was always worried we’d be found out back then.”

Shrugging amicably, Nick took a seat beside her on the steps, wincing as he picked a splinter away from the time-splintered wood. She scooted over to leave a good foot of space between them.

“But honestly? I don’t think they cared. All the big preds had their own agenda to look after, and it wasn’t like they were worried about the opinions of prey,” she mused, mostly to herself. A gentle breeze prompted one of her ears to twitch.“We should’ve been caught hundreds of times. None of us knew what we were doing.”

She let the statement hang in the air, quietly drawing shapes into the planks below her. Nick added a thoughtful sigh into the mix for good measure. 

“Can’t always have things go right, rabbit. And besides that, this is a _city_ we’re talking about; power structures and class systems that have been in place for centuries. It was never going to be easy.”

“It never _will_ be easy,” she corrected him, almost unconsciously. “I’m not done. I’d burn every collar in the city if I could.”

Nick quieted, a certain spark draining from his eyes. “Speaking of collars…” he started cautiously, watching as Judy’s expression sharpened to a needle’s point, “...You should consider using one to blend in. Even if it’s fake.”

 **“NO,”** she snarled. One paw instinctively reached to her neck, rubbing the stunted fur where _it_ had once dwelled. “There will be no debate on this, Nick. I’m not going back.”

“Alright, alright,” Nick placated understandingly. Regret laced the edge of his muzzle, but for which reason — whether he regretted asking, regretted her stubbornness, or regretted inviting her on-stage — she couldn’t tell. “Just thought I’d ask. We’ll be able to cover for you; the census-taker doesn’t come around often. If anyone asks… you’re a stray, picked up near the edge of town.”

Judy can tell the pause was feigned; he’d thought through a cover story already. If she was being honest, it was both comforting and unnerving that he’d planned this far ahead.

Offhandedly, she noticed one flame-orange blob that seemed to be making its way towards the house rather than away with the retreating crowd. 

“Got it.” A sliver of irritation remained in her voice. “When’s the next meeting?”

“Not sure,” Nick began casually, “It’s a bit tough to get everyone together like this. Probably no more than a few days, if I had to guess. Until then, it’d be best for you to keep working at the farm—” He caught her expression of distaste, raising a mollifying paw, “—because it won’t arouse suspicion. You’ll be provided with shelter and food, too.”

A long, heavy sigh answered. All things considered, she was getting the better end of this deal: somewhere to stay and a reliable source of communication with Ben, for the mere price of her time. Assuming this deal was genuine, gratefulness — admittedly tarnished by the lack of freedom — was overdue.

“I can do that,” she finally said. Out of the corner of her eye, she notes that the orange blob had come closer. “It’ll be like yesterday, right? Picking blueberries until the baskets are full?”

The fox nodded. “Yup. Duke or I can answer any questions you have; I run the financial side of things, and he runs the mammalian side. If you need medical attention, the doc…” He trailed off, catching something in the corner of his eye. A flinch followed.

The orange thing she’d seen had finally come close enough to identify: Another fox, dressed in simple farmwear clean enough to shine, was swaggering towards them. Almost instinctively, the smattering of prey remaining veered away.

“ _Dammit,_ ” Nick sighed. Bitterness spread across his features like wildfire, and with a subtle gesture he urged the rabbit to head back inside, keeping his gaze perpendicular from the approaching fox. “Sorry, Judy. I… have to deal with something. Meet you in the house in ten?” he said, hushed.

She peered out of the corner of her eye at their new guest. While she wouldn’t describe their expression as hostile, it certainly wasn’t friendly. Confidence — or perhaps arrogance — rang out with every step they took.

“Judy,” Nick hissed. “Get. Inside. I won’t be long. I promise.”

“...Alright,” she said finally, with a doubtful frown. Judy stood from the steps, sparing one worried glance behind her before walking with all the feigned normalcy she could manage through the shuddering door. This was Nick’s figh- _guest,_ and from his tone she doubted he was in serious danger.

Nonetheless, she crouched beneath the nearby window, closing her eyes and straining to hear the outside.

First was the gentle _crunch_ of leaves as they were tread on. Next was a quiet groan of the stairs as she assumed Nick stood; it wasn’t hard to imagine the shrouded worry on his muzzle.

Last was the conversation.

“Wilde,” a new voice drawled. She assumed it was the other fox.

“Ah, sir, so good to see you! I was wondering when you’d come by. This is a simple misunderstanding, I promise.”

A silence, followed by a languid huff. “I’d hardly call a _forest fire_ a misunderstanding. Explain.”

Nausea pounds her stomach, hard enough to keel her over like she’d been stabbed. She forgot about the fire.

“Sir, it wasn’t my doing,” Nick explained patiently. “All I know is that a few days ago those acres hosted a fire, likely started by…” He paused, just long enough for her throat to seize. “...natural causes.”

How much had been destroyed? She didn’t check. She _couldn’t_ check.

A guttural snort followed, the distilled sound of utter contempt. “Don’t gimme one of your stories, Wilde. I was told that the ZCM came through — armed and _outside_ of the city. If they come askin’ questions, it’s my tail on the line. You know who’s next?”

“Me,” Nick murmured. Despair — faked or not, she couldn’t quite tell — dripped from his voice.

Her guilt compressed into a tight coil, stored away to explode. There would be time for explanation — and apology — later.

“You. Boss don’t want either of us dead, Wilde, so find an explanation. Lie if you hafta — you’re good at that.”

Something mumbled. There was a slight curve to the pitch at the end, like the words were being thrown rather than said, and then a heavy _thud_. Despite being well out of sight, Judy felt a rush of equal parts adrenaline and fury enter her system. 

“I told you not to get smart with me.” Another _thud,_ louder this time, and the distinct slap of a mammal hitting the dirt. One paw, previously over her mouth, settled grimly on her knife. If this went much further… “Send me something I can use over the radio. Soon. Property damage from the fire is gonna be taken outta _your_ paycheck.”

“Got it,” Nick wheezed laconically. Even without seeing him, the airiness of his voice clearly told her that he’d been winded.

“Mmm,” the other fox drawled. “You’d better. I got other business to attend to, and I ain’t plannin’ on coming round here again.”

And again, the crunching of leaves — this time quieting as that damned fox swaggered away — framed by the semi-controlled gasping of Nick.

She couldn’t wait another second. Drawing her knife, she opened the door quietly, filled with a surge of spite on seeing an umber-orange form, back turned. Creeping down the steps, she began appro-

“ _Don’t!”_ Nick hissed quietly, just loud enough for her to hear. His head had snapped to her the second she stepped out. “Please, don’t. It’ll just make things worse,” he rasped. A fresh coating of dirt slathered the side he’d fallen on, but fortunately nothing seemed broken, mental or physical. 

Her teeth gritted, grinding near-audibly. The white-hot spike of rage dulled, if just for a moment, but not quite enough for her to form a sentence. Fanning the anger would help overpower the burgeoning guilt as it clawed against the cage she’d put it in.

“I’ll be alright, just need to get to Doc. Got off easy this time. Help me up, please?” Although he was sprawled on the ground, a bright, frighteningly genuine smile was painted across his face. 

Judy wordlessly offered him a paw. He took it gratefully, one arm resting over his stomach as she cautiously helped to pull him up; even his tail was stained a dusty brown. 

“Sorry you had to hear that,” he said quietly. “That fox is the leader of our biwarren, responsible for maintaining all the land nearby. I work as a kind of right-hand-mammal for him, unfortunately.”

“It sounded like he was using you as a punching bag,” she bristled. Nick was her one half-possible — okay, maybe quarter-possible — chance at freedom, and anyone that endangered him was not an ally. “What’s his name?”

“Gideon,” Nick murmured. “Gideon Grey.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hooray for more movie characters! As always, feedback is welcome and appreciated. Thank you for reading, and have a good week.
> 
> Special Thanks to ARK for beta-ing this chapter. Love ya!


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